


/ˈrɛmnənt/

by Tav



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bad Parenting, Character Death, Depression, Festivals, Heavy Angst, House Parties, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Police, Road Trips, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-12 01:31:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 24,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19937836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tav/pseuds/Tav
Summary: A suicide brings a group of long-lost friends together again for one more night to commemorate the life lost.Or the one where Tony's fatal overdose forces Bucky to take that dreaded walk down memory lane if he ever wants to understand what they had back then, what they've lost right now and what to make of tomorrow.





	1. Senseless Nostalgia of Boys who can’t Dance but do Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Oh dear lord there's so much angst...run away from the angst!!!! 
> 
> This is a story I wrote many years ago...it wrote itself, easily written since written from memory. I've once again Avengered it up and I've changed a lot to make it work. So guys, the POV changed completely and I'm editing line for line, so if I accidentally miss something, I AM SO SORRY!!! and please let me know....
> 
> This is a warped story, expect nothing normal. Chapter lengths are warped, titles are warped, everything is warped...but it's honest and raw in it's confusion that will somehow make sense in the end. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading.

**Present Time**

James keeps asking himself the same question as he stands motionlessly in the shower. The shower Tony’s been in one too many times, like countless others they’ve shared. It’s almost as if Tony’s still here. Or he’ll just show up. Or he’ll ask to come over. Then James will say no, and then say no again because to Tony, the first no always means yes. _Meant_ yes, James has to remember what tense to use for Tony because there is no present tense for the dead.

The water pounds down, ice cold and unkind against his shoulders. But that’s what the pretty, young therapist with queen-like posture prescribed. She was right. The arctic torture is suitably painful yet far less damaging than a blade to the wrist. Or the bright red end of a cigarette to the palm. Far less permanent than a washing line cord around the neck and a short stool being kicked out from underneath size ten, red and black tartan shoes.

The song in the background begins to skip in the same place it always does. Mashed with the cruel spray from the shower head, the annoyance forges itself into beauty. A beautiful memory now which was horrid years ago.

It reminds James of the time he flung that exact pirated CD out the window of Clint’s car. Clint’s brand new, fifth-hand, questionably smelling and barely moving Ford Cortina. Because the CD was already breaking several laws by purely existing let alone being put on repeat while James was trying to enjoy his high. And the artist who was misconstruing his lyrics as listenable and his heavy beat as melodic had to be found and shot if he hadn't been already.

And all it took was for the fragile compact disk to bounce twice on the tarred road before Tony was throwing himself out of the crawling metal death-trap, forcing Clint hit his foot down on the brakes. Somewhere between James’ woozy laughter and newly achieved silence, it had all seemed like a good idea - ingenious even. That was until the passenger door swung open and James was dragged out of the vehicle.

Tony was much larger than James, but then again, many were. Tony was also egotistical and conceited, which is why the only music they ever ended up listening to was his underground, street, bullshit that he’d crank up, regardless of how many of the rest of them wanted to listen to Creed.

Tony was charismatic and influential, excreting some sort of super venom awesomeness that tricked guys into believing they needed to follow him and fooled girls into yearning to be with him. He could even coat his teeth with bright pink nail polish and everyone else would be flashing rosy fangs before the week was over.

He was anything but contemporary.

Stereotypically, Tony would be deemed too geeky, disproportionate and cheesy to be popular. But Tony was the architect of his own twisted world. A world where he was the Piper and all who didn't follow his jingle just weren't necessary. He was an illusionist with a mind so manipulative that he could get anything he wanted. Unfortunately for him, that particular night, he met his match.

Because James didn't like him, and James never followed him around and James couldn't care less about what he wanted. Until, however, what Tony wanted happened to be _James’_ sister.

Tony had a particular taste in girls. The more one dimensional they were, the better. He liked them young and naïve and pretty, superficial and vulnerable and small. And although James’ older sister was vertically challenged and shamelessly beautiful, she did not meet his baby-bimbo criteria.

Even so, Tony pursued her and James hated it. He’d hated the way Tony had gone on with her when first meeting her that night. And how he’d gone on about her even after she’d left. James hated how Tony misconstrued her genuine politeness as mutual attraction. And James detested the innuendo behind Tony’s words as the night’s antics further stirred them tipsy. Tony’s way of thinking wasn’t entirely different from the rest of the horny teenage boys James hung out with and so he shouldn’t have really been that irritated by it. But he was. Because although James hadn’t warmed up to Tony yet, something told him that Tony was a lot deeper than the façade he put on that had him flashing gang signs, hiding behind dark shades and wearing way too much unnecessary jewellery.

And so after a few too many gins and joints. After countless attempts at changing the subject from his sister to drying gym socks in the microwave. And after listening to track five on Clint’s car stereo for the tenth time that night. James rolled down the window, ejected the CD, and tossed it out into the night.

Who cared if it had taken Tony years to get a copy? And so what if his former best friend had given it to him before leaving Midgard. Tony could’ve told James that the Queen had pooped it out especially for him on Valentine’s Day and James still wouldn’t have given a shit. As Tony shoved James and the other guys held them apart, James made a note of showing the self-acclaimed spearhead that he wasn’t going to deal with any more _Tonys_ in his life.

For years, James got enough _Tony_ from his father. James had the physical scars and emotional dearth to prove it. Promise had been replaced with cynicism and all innocence drained. James got plenty of Tony from his brother too. The constant feelings of inadequacy and brutal taunts shone through the dark colors that inked their way onto the edges of his textbooks. The reason for his many Friday afternoons spent in the detention hall and nights locked in his room. Guys like Tony were the reasons James escaped from his school of nine years, and frankly, he was done playing victim to oppressors who clearly had more insecurities than him. And that’s why that night James fought back.

The light above flickers, threatening to go out and James is brought back to the present. If he was any kind of spiritual he might be unnerved. He might allow himself to entertain the stupid feeling of not being alone.

But James is sane.

So he makes a mental note to ask the landlord for his stepladder after finding out what kind of bulb he has to add to his shopping list. The same list stuck on his fridge that hasn’t changed in a week since the day he kissed a crying Tony goodnight and left him.

And James asks himself the same question yet again, why did he leave Tony?

With his arms looking akin to the skin of an uncooked turkey, James turns off the faucet, temporarily ending his sentence. Mainly because he will be late if I doesn’t. Also because a sudden spurt of pneumonia would kill all plans for the night. Fatal illness can wait until morning; it might even be welcomed then.

The beer feels warm against his frozen palm and heats his insides almost too quickly as he makes a wet trail through his bachelor pad. He presses the eject button on his DVD player and it offers back the offensive CD. He can’t help the pang of déjà vu he feels when he tosses the ruined disc across the open plan lounge and it lands on the pile of mess on his bed. The bed he hasn’t slept on in months. The one he’ll possibly never use again.

It isn’t long before he’s fully dressed, mind still too worn-out to take in visuals. Especially visuals he’s certain he’ll just regret seeing, so James bypasses the mirror entirely. He’s certain that the black hoodie covering most of his pale face looks no different than it did when Tony once told him he resembled something out of Tim Burton’s head. The Pumpkin King in skinny jeans, Tony once laughed.

With his backpack slung over his shoulder, James isn’t the least bit surprised to see the car already across the road, discretely tucked under some trees in the blackened street. The driver irritates James by pushing the passenger door open for him, further annoying him by helping wrestle his backpack to the backseat of the tiny vehicle. James is grateful that it’s dark, not sure if he can stomach the boyish grin he knows Steve has plastered on his face. For some unspoken reason, it feels as though they’re supposed to be as quiet as possible.

“Have you been crying, Bucky?” Steve asks, studying James as he fires up the engine.

“No, I haven’t,” James snaps, a bit too quickly and far too defensively. James sighs before dropping his throbbing head against the seat rest. Only because Steve’s lighting up a cigarette for him even though Steve doesn’t ever smoke himself. He’s even bought James’ brand and James feels something tug in his gut. Because Steve’s not supposed to know him, or care about him. He’s not supposed to be here at all. As James takes the lit cigarette from him and feels slightly bad with the way Steve stifles a cough, something tells James he shouldn’t be there either. But James still has no answer to the question that’s been keeping him up for nights and dragging him down for days. _Why did I leave Tony?_

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Steve asks, his all black gear leaving only the gap between his eyes and chin exposed. And if James didn’t know him, he might look dangerous.

“Please just drive,” James mumbles on an exhale. Because he’s done with the questions. Tonight is a night for answers.

Clarity, closure and Tony Stark.


	2. Good Natured Interventions and the Dawning of Distress

**One Week Ago**

It started off like any other Friday.

James woke suddenly to the heightened sobs of Nebula , and he chuckled.

Nebula was a cross between an Alsatian and something else James wasn’t quite sure of. She was beautiful; she looked like a coal black Husky and had the heart of a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. Her face was kinder than that of a German Shepherd, and James didn’t even feel dejected on the many occasions that she’d scoff and walk right passed him. Nebula had no time for anyone else when Odin was around. Sometimes James had the slightest suspicion that Nebula was convinced that his landlord was really her husband, and his human wife was just an annoying lady who’d been hanging around for over forty years and couldn’t take a hint.

James usually woke up every morning when Odin Borson would back his van out of the driveway. When Odin left, Nebula cried so hysterically that James couldn’t help but picture a black-haired fair maiden weeping, waiting for her prince charming to return.

It had become an unspoken ritual for James to take the trash out on Friday mornings before the truck came to rid the neighborhood of their weekly waste. Nebula was on his heel the entire time while he emptied the can outside his back door. Her cries were shorter and quieter. She was asking James where Odin was, and he told her not to worry, he’d be home soon. She was telling James that he would just have to do until Odin returned, and James smiled, stroked her fur and let himself be her surrogate.

The smell of popcorn wafting from the kitchen made it clear that Frigga was awake and the bubbly chatter suggested her thirty something year old daughter was with her, possibly brewing formula for her baby girl who James still had yet to hear cry. Nebula’s daily decision to trail along with a man she’d only known for six months as opposed to the women of the family she’d been born into made James realize early that Nebula didn’t care much for the females of the human species. She was eleven years old, approximately seventy seven in dog years. It made her a bit of a cougar, even where Odin was concerned, but James never mentioned that to her.

The Borson residence was like an antique mansion on the outskirts of town. It had many doorways with rounded pediments, but few doors. The cement on the walls was bumpy, covered in a warm coat of pale cream paint. It was brought to life with fine woodwork and original art, lining the walls and propped up on shelves. Mr. and Mrs. Borson had even taken the time to turn James quarters into a cozy little cottage that resembled the main house.

When James first arrived at the Borson’s house, he had been terribly uncomfortable with the fact that the newspaper advertisement hadn’t mentioned that the fully furnished garden cottage came _with_ a family. James had fully intended on only seeing them when it was time to pay rent and then forget they existed for another four weeks. It only took two months of playing school with the grandchildren and doing garden work with Odin - of listening to Frigga’s stories of how Odin and her fell in love and talking art politics with their daughter -for James to realize exactly what he would have missed out on.

Nebula had an operation when she was nine years old. As a result, her hind legs prevented her from moving with ease, the limp only noticeable on colder days. Her black fur coat prevented the scars from being obvious, but the slant of her back revealed the minor defect. It was also the reason she couldn’t climb the stairs very quickly, so James waited for her like a gentleman. A few determined leaps later and she was beside him again, thanking him by nuzzling her snout against his hand. James would rather she hadn’t done that since he had just been dealing with garbage, but she seemed undeterred as he knocked on the already opened back kitchen door, more out of respect than obligation.

The kitchen was bright and warm and redolent of fresh popcorn and rich coffee. As usual, Frigga was packing what looked like her twenty-fifth bag of popcorn and Hela managed to shock James by actually frying eggs. He could’ve sworn she’s said something about being a vegan.

Both ladies greeted James with matching grins when he entered. However, James’ smile disappeared the second he noticed that they were not alone. Nebula’s appreciative moan and sudden departure from James’ side only fuelled his annoyance when Steve flashed a deck of splayed out playing cards in my face.

“Pick a card, any card,” Steve looked ecstatic when he spoke. He looked at least three years old that morning which meant he had matured a year since the previous night when he was going down on James. Hela rolled her eyes and James was immediately convinced that he had no choice in the matter.

It was a Jack of hearts, James only half bothered memorizing while Steve shuffled the deck and he made his way to the bin in the corner of the kitchen.

“Sleep any, Bucky?” Frigga asked.

A concerned Odin had informed her that James never slept, after seeing the study light seeping out the curtains, night after night when sleep decided to sit beside him and laugh.

James contemplated being honest with her and telling her that Steve was a restless sleeper which made sleep for him mainly impossible on the nights that he was tolerant enough to let Steve stay in his bed until morning. Somehow, disclosing such information about the neighbour he barely knew (who actually waxed his legs for triathlons) seemed uncouth. So James told her that it was surprisingly warm for the beginning of winter and that his insomnia seemed to be at bay instead. She seemed pleased and James almost offered to help her seal more popcorn bags, but Steve was back in his face just as James got a good knot in the Borson’s garbage bag.

“It’s this one, right?” Steve inquired.

“Yes,” James nodded at the card with three black spades on it and Hela chuckled.

Steve looked pleased with himself, blue eyes sparkling and grin slanting in a way that could have easily given a number of things away had the two Borson ladies not been paying more attention to their tasks at hand. James forced his features to remain indifferent before turning to make his escape, hardly surprised that he suddenly had two dogs following me instead of one.

One regal black beauty and one horny blond puppy.

“Let me know if you need me to take those up to the school for you, Frigga,” James gestured to the stack of popcorn that Mrs. Borson was now adorning with printed ‘Borson’ tags. Delivering them to the nearby school tuck-shop usually resulted in him getting a few free bags, something Odin and James comically fought over because Mrs. Borson made the best popcorn in the world.

“It’s alright,” Frigga hummed, “Steve’s already offered to do it. Thanks Bucky.”

James glared at Steve’s triumphant smirk as he pocketed his playing cards. They descended the steps together, Steve irritating him further by moving quickly to help him with the other garbage bag still waiting outside.

Steve was not a bad guy.

Mrs. Borson had introduced them as soon as she found out that James was interested in starting his own copy shop, and recalled that her next door neighbour was recently retrenched from one. As James waited in her dining room, and she insisted Steve merely had to jump the wall and he would be right over, James hadn’t expected to see what walked in moments later.

His sporty air had been observable within seconds, hands shoved deep into three quarter shorts’ pockets, and hoodie not quite zipped up, barely covering a brightly colored top. The white flip-flops made the tan on his solid, sportsman legs more prominent.

His hair was a sandy shade of blond, flat on his head with a strong hairline. His eyes were narrow blue strips and James doubted a smile could possibly get any more sincere than his. James couldn’t determine his age, not off the bat, but he doubted Steve was any older than himself. The blush dusting his cheeks added youth to the otherwise, mature, square angles of his face. His frame-less spectacles made him look knowledgeable while the unshaven jaw portrayed a hint of recklessness.

James admits that he had been completely distracted during their entire first conversation. Not only because Steve was the kind of handsome that could set off smoke detectors, but also because he was genuinely fascinating. He was a child in a man’s body, excitement oozing out of his eyes, all while having credentials in his back pocket that could easily convince anyone that he’d lived two lifetimes and seen it all. He inadvertently exceeded James intelligence and was indifferent towards his cynicism. And one night that they’d decided to settle a dispute -one that Steve viewed light-heartedly while James was spitting venom over- Steve couldn’t stop rubbing his palms over his bare legs every time they had to wait for the video game to load.

“If you’re cold just put on longer pants,” James had muttered in the dark, slightly irritated by the fact that Steve’s samurai ninja warrior kept defeating his hard-core tattooed biker guy who was twice ninja’s size.

“M’not cold,” Steve had chuckled before and after that statement. James hated the way he always smiling. “It always feels funny when my hair’s growing back.”

Then Steve had proved his point by guiding James’ hand up his leg. Leaving James unable to stop after passing his knee. Allowing it to disappear somewhere beneath the opening of his shorts. And his face had been one of complete amusement, a thorough contrast to James’ own annoyance by the fact that Steve had obviously identified the sexual mutual attraction. And the events that followed their first kiss had resulted in James taking a very uncomfortable walk home and an exceedingly necessary shower, due to inflamed hormones and untimely orgasms.

James could lie and say he regretted letting Steve in every time he knocked on the door. James never missed an opportunity to tell Steve how big a mistake it all was. But Steve didn’t buy it and James barely argued it because frankly, it was a load of shit and they both knew it.

“It’s the Surfers Marathon this weekend,” Steve beamed, practically bouncing beside James.

“I own a radio,” James mumbled, circling the side of the house while clumsily trying to fish the front gate keys out of his too low pockets. James would risk looking like an idiot by multitasking, anything to rush the moment. And not only because something was leaking from the bottom of one of the garbage bags and leaving with it a nauseating off tuna stench.

“I was sort of hoping that you might want to come and-”

James stopped walking and Steve bumped into him slightly as Nebula growled, heading straight for the gate. She growled further, walking back and forth, inspecting the guy hanging on the gate with one hand, cellphone held to his ear with the other. It was only when she barked, and he frowned, did James realize he had to do something.

“Who the hell is that?” Steve muttered before James dropped the bags and rushed to calm Nebula . The last thing he needed right then was for her to bark enough to get Mrs. Borson’s attention and he thanked his lucky stars that Odin wasn’t home. He couldn’t blame Nebula for her outburst though; he couldn’t even blame Steve for the way he’d half-heartedly grabbed his shirt in a feeble attempt to keep him from getting too close to the stranger. And even though he wasn’t any sort of stranger to James, James wasn’t sure he was comfortable with what he saw either.

“How did you find out where I live?” James pushed a button on his little remote, opening the large gate narrowly enough for Tony to slip in, and closing it so Nebula wouldn’t to run out. ‘James held her back with a finger hooked in her collar just in case she tried.

“Scott told me,” Tony shrugged, chapped lips curling into an all too familiar grin. It made James’ stomach heat up and he wanted to be mad at Scott, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t like he’d been honest with anyone about the true nature of his relationship with Tony. “You know he works at Footlocker now?”

“Yeah, I know,” James reluctantly accepted the hug he was pulled into. Tony reeked of nicotine and sweat and way too much body spray to cover up any other odor that James was lucky enough not to have smelt yet.

“Of course you do. Told me you and some of the guys have a monthly poker night here.” Tony raised a brow that disappeared under a mess of dark bangs that were plastered to his forehead with the help of a trucker cap and greasy skin. “How come I’m never invited? I might start to think you’re tryina avoid me.”

“No, Tony, don’t _start_ to think,” James let go of Nebula to stress his point with his hands. She immediately began circling Tony, doing her routine stranger-danger inspection with a persistent growl still on high. “I am avoiding you and you know exactly why.”

“Is he your new boyfriend?” Tony’s eyes were cast past James’ shoulder, reminding him of the fact that they weren’t alone. “Another one, I see. What number is this one then, Bucky?”

“He’s not my-” James sighed, realizing Tony didn’t even deserve justification in the matter since none of anything James was doing was any of Tony’s business. Even so, the glimpse of jealousy behind his hazel and unnaturally white eyes scrambled James’ emotions in a frustrating way.

James’ turned to Steve, trying his very best to soften the frown as he picked up the rubbish bags and practically shoved them at him.

“Can you please just do this for me?” James asked. Steve looked even more confused than he usually looked when James shows up at his doorstep ‘just because’.

James usually woke to the heightened sobs of Nebula , and he usually chuckled. This was different. It was a short shriek, an announcement of pain that shook his core and made his blood boil instantly. James spun around just in time to see Nebula scamper away from Tony.

“Please keep that bitch away from m-” Tony’s back hit the wall before he could finish and not even the utterly perplexed look on his face made James loosen the grip he had on Tony’s collar. If Tony hadn’t been caught off guard, James wouldn’t have had the slightest chance backing his larger frame up, but Tony’s movements were clumsy with a lot more than lack of alertness. James only stepped away from him when he raised his hands in mock defeat, certain it was mockery since Tony didn’t even bother trying to hide the shitfaced grin on his face.

James rummaged through his keys, easily finding his burglar gate then front door ones, hating the way his hands shook as he unlocked them both. James wasn’t going to risk going back around the way he’d come with Steve, he couldn’t risk running into a single Borson. Not with the way he was feeling and certainly not with what he was about to do.

“Get inside,” James ordered in a way he hoped left no room for argument. He rolled his eyes at the wink Tony gave him as he entered, hating himself for his decision already. And as James crouched down beside Steve to inspect an already content looking Nebula, James knew he wasn’t the only one.

“She’s okay,” James confirmed when Nebula licked his fingers, and then more stubbornly went for his face. James hoped his smile and ear rub were apology enough.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Steve’s voice was low. Secretive and underlined with a coldness, anger and fear James had never ever heard from him before.

“It really isn’t any of your business,” James said, rising to his feet.

“Bucky-”

“If you don’t mind,” James interrupted, gesturing to the garbage bags. Bags which were once supposed to be the hardest task of what was once meant to be a completely uneventful Friday. “Thank you.”

Once making sure everything was locked and even going as far as to stupidly close the curtains, James finally turned to survey his bachelor pad. It already seemed darker than usual, more claustrophobic and a whole lot less like home. It felt as though his safe haven had been infiltrated by the worst kind of terrorist. Yet as his eyes fell on Tony, stretched out, face down in the most awkward position on his bed, James felt such unexplainable relief. Relief that he knew where Tony was and he knew that he was safe. James wanted to climb on top of Tony and pin him down and make sure he was unable to leave while forcing him to promise he’d stay out of his life forever.

“Tony,” James said firmly, dying to yell at him while praying he was asleep. He wasn’t, James found out when Tony pulled the pillow out from under him and placed it over his head. James had learned a long time ago that Tony was one of those rarities who could fall asleep like that for hours without needing air. The next part was a whisper, “what am I gonna do with you?”

James picked up the jacket he’d tossed on the floor, running his fingers over the ripped material on the elbow before hanging it up on the cupboard doorknob. James made a phone call, sitting on his bathroom floor, with his knees against his chest and his head in his hands.

James’ mother only took him seriously when he started to cry; she panicked when he hung up the phone from inability to speak, only answering the phone again on her third frantic attempt.

James fell asleep sitting on the floor beside the bed for longer than he had slept in ages, exhaustion proving to be worlds better than any sleeping pill. Hours passed before he woke to incessant vibrations from his phone that he’d tucked under his folded arms for that very reason.

Ignoring the pain in his neck, he placed a jar of ice water and a glass on his nightstand before he left; making sure Tony’s snoring was still even.

The sun was setting by the time James got back home, so he wasn’t too surprised to see that the lights were on in his place. He did, however, have an enormous problem with the loud music seeping out from the cracked open windows, so loud that it could be heard from the street. He couldn’t get inside fast enough, battling with the bags of groceries which he was forced to balance between his teeth and under his arm, possibly squashing the more fragile contents in the process.

James slammed the entire machine off, bypassing the volume and just barely refraining from yanking out the power cable before storming through the lounge in search of Tony. It was a small place; there weren’t many places he could be. So it only took James a few determined strides to find steam rushing out of the bathroom and hear the spray of water hitting tiles and skin.

The bathroom was small too, perfect for someone living alone and intending on keeping it that way. The mirror was made up of four small squares, puzzled together to make a single average sized one. It was the first thing one would see once sliding the bathroom door open, which is why it was impossible for James not to notice one of the squares missing. James frowned, mystified for a moment before identifying the reason for its absence. His anger instantly returned then amplified.

The white powder was damp from the steam clouding the bathroom, residue sticking stubbornly to the mirror as James flushed whatever Tony hadn’t snorted down the toilet. He was tempted to toss the rolled up dollar bill in the toilet as well, opting to throw it in Tony’s face when he stuck his head out from behind the steamed up shower door instead.

“Do you have any idea what I had to do to get that?” James heard Tony bark, heard the shower go off as he made a straight line to Tony’s jacket. It only took two tries before he was fishing out a folded up piece of worn newspaper which had undoubtedly spent most of its existence in that over-sized pocket. Not checking Tony’s pockets to begin with was James first mistake. He should have known. It wasn’t his first rodeo.

James wasn’t surprised when Tony tackled him from behind; it was more shocking that he’d bothered to at least wrap a towel around his waist before he did. “Don’t be like this, Bucks.”

James irritation intensified by the fact that Tony was finding amusement in the matter, mind obviously befuddled with pills and what used to be the contents of the three empty beer bottles on the nightstand. He hadn’t touched the water.

“I’m sick of this, Tony. It’s over,” James tried to worm his way out of Tony’s heavy grip, clearly not caring that he was soaking James. And James hated the way that Tony was cradling him, as if James was the one in need of mediation and Tony was the negotiator.

“Don’t be such a girl, Bucky,” Tony chuckled, using a little more force to manoeuvre them both towards the bed. “Something would’ve had to start in order for anything to be over.”

“No, I mean it,” James snapped, elbowing Tony in the gut. It was harder than he intended, yet not nearly hard enough. Not when James was breaking down and falling apart and terrified of everything about Tony Stark. “It’s over. I’m not doing this with you anymore.”

“Bucky-”

“No,” James snapped, because Tony had the ability to say his name in a certain way that would result in him ending up disgustingly high, on his back, hating himself the next morning. Tony’s smile slipped slightly but didn’t vanish as he crossed his arms over his chest. He was nauseatingly smug, so cocky that any reservations James may have had completely slipped away. James wanted to break him; James wanted Tony to feel what he was feeling. James didn’t want to suffer alone anymore. “I was at St. Marks with my mother today. It took some convincing, but she’s willing to pay for your admission.”

“Bullshit,” Tony scoffed, immediately heading to the kitchen. James followed him, slipping the forgotten drugs into his pocket. Because they’d been through this far too many times. It was a dance they could do in their sleep.

“Just listen to me,” James took the beer bottle away from him and he simply shrugged and pulled another out of the fridge. “No one is gonna force you into this. But it will be good for you. Tony, this could possibly the best thing for you. Even you know this is getting out of hand-”

“No one’s forcing me into anything?” Tony chuckled, a sadistic sort of laughter that sent all the wrong kinds of shivers down James’ spine. He popped the lid off his bottle on the edge of the sink and James noticed a scratch in the stainless steel. “What the fuck do you call running to your mother behind my back, Bucky? I mean, this has nothing to do with her. Do you have any idea how much those kind of places cost anyway?”

“Yes,” James nodded. “And the fact that she’s willing to pay for it means something.”

“Your mother doesn’t even like me,” he waved his hand and some beer splashed onto the floor. James was forced to follow him again when he stalked into the lounge and dropped himself down on the sofa. “Don’t act like she’s doing any of this for me.”

“Tony, please,” James sighed, feeling outrageously defeated because Tony was always at his door asking for his help but never the kind of help he needed. And James was always giving as much as he could until he realized he was trying to heal Tony in the hopes that Tony would be cured an adequate amount enough to allow James enough time to get his own sanity back. And James was tired. Physically, emotionally, wholly. He couldn’t take Tony anymore. “She’s doing this because she’s daring you to do it for yourself.”

And Tony agreed. It took hours of tango, back and forth but he agreed. And when he was crying on James’ shoulder, because he really didn’t have any friends left, and his parents had long since stopped caring if he breathed. Because Jarvis’s grandmother only agreed to him coming over one last night because she trusted James’ word and Mrs. Barnes was his reference.

Tony thanked James.

On that cold night in June, Tony had actually thanked his lover. And he was all packed for morning. And James kissed Tony goodnight, barely coherent himself because Tony had a way of getting James disgustingly high with him one last time.

Then James left him in his bed and went home.

Why did James leave Tony?


	3. Misery Loves Company….. and Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Present Time Chapters will always be a lot shorter...But just because they're shorter doesn't mean they're not as important. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy, mistakes are my own...

**Present Time**

The hugs aren’t awkward. James had thought they would be. Because Jarvis has gained a bit of weight and Sam no longer has dreadlocks and Bruce suddenly lives in three towns away.

And James left Tony.

But everything feels fond and the pats on the back feel necessary.

It's dark and they’re in the middle of nowhere. But a while ago, almost too many years ago, it was the only way they knew how to spend their Friday nights. Because absolutely nobody cared about them less than they cared about themselves. But they all cared about each other.

Apart from haircut, Sam hasn’t changed at all. He’s still the first to ask James who his tag-along is and James keeps his introduction of Steve concise. James shakes his head at Sam’s choice of footwear. Because in the dark, with the rest of the guys compliantly wearing all black, white kicks stand out like reflectors on a mountain bike. But Sam hasn’t changed so Bruce and James merely laugh when Jarvis takes it upon himself to kick dirt onto the offensive and terribly expensive looking snow white shoes.

In the deserted clearing that smells like seawater and garbage, they waste no time getting down to business. Jarvis’s motorbike headlight offers a little less light than Steve’s car, but Jarvis stubbornly refuses to borrow light from somebody he doesn’t know. Because he’s always been too quiet and awkward and completely unfriendly unless the conversation was about anime porn or Placebo. Then there was that one time a few years back when he was the last to leave James’ house party, and their attempts to out-drink each other resulted in them tangled, naked in James’ bed. James hadn’t been able to get him to shut up that night, regardless of his many attempts he’d made. Because James felt terribly uncomfortable with how straight Jarvis’s face was when he spoke about killing his ‘sperm donor’ if he ever saw him again. Murdering one’s father was hardly the type of conversation you’d want to have with a guy you’d just had sex with. The type of guy who carried around a Swiss army knife and grinned at it as he lit yet another cigarette with the one he’d barely finished.

“Here they are,” Jarvis digs out an envelope from his backpack. As he tugs the contents out, they all stand around him, looking at the tags in silence. There’s a sense of permanence that comes with what they’re about to do. But it’s necessary. So James clenches his jaw, clears his throat and bites back the tears he feels rising. James shrugs Steve’s hand off his shoulder because it’s the last thing he needs right then.

“Nice job,” Bruce praises Jarvis, handing him the first red plastic cup of whiskey before dutifully pouring another. James nods his agreement, not trusting his voice, hating the way Sam eyes him as if he’s expecting James to fall to his knees and start crying. The same way he had when Sam had told him that Tony had overdosed.

Red was always their colour. Their shared love for it amplified the day they painted Tony’s bedroom walls red. Because he was living with Jarvis’s grandmother and she really didn’t mind as long as they promised to restore it to its original color when Tony decided to move out. So it didn’t shock James that Jarvis had decided to design the small vinyl stickers red. A flame-like pattern, with wicked black font that read: _Tony Was Here_.

“Let’s start at the college,” James suggests, because his first memory of Tony is of him sitting on the college steps in a ridiculous red trucker hat, eating a packet of tomato flavoured corn chips.

Nobody seems to object. And the small smiles on their faces are a nice touch to the evening as they toast Tony and swallow our whiskey.


	4. College Steps have a Funny Way of Bringing Losers Together

**7 Years Ago**

_“DON’T FOLLOW ME!_

_I’M ALSO LOST!”_

James chuckled at the statement scribbled in sharpie on the back of some guys backpack. Then he stupidly realized that he _had_ been following the guy.

James had been in the same school since he was a six-year old irregular boy who was often mistaken for a girl because his mother refused to cut his hair. People knew him as the over achiever, the ‘art and drama’ kid. The one who was always coming first in class and captain of the tennis team and the schools border coloured public speaking prodigy.

Then James hit puberty and became _the notorious Brock’s_ faggoty little brother and _the perfect Maria’s_ dorky shadow sibling. Then hormones kicked in and grades dropped and schoolyard fights ensued and pretty soon James became Bucky, the kid all the other delinquents rushed to, to find out which classroom detention would be held in that week. Because Bucky never missed it, not even on weeks that he really tried to.

Nine years in one institution had everyone knowing his name. They knew Bucky’s father was abusive and that his mother wouldn’t divorce him. They knew his brother got expelled and spent the night in prison after being found with marijuana pips at the bottom of his schoolbag. They knew his sister wasn’t a virgin because her secret boyfriend never could keep his big mouth shut. As James walked through the gates of his new college for the first time that day, a sense of relief washed over him. Because absolutely nobody knew who the hell he was.

The building was pink, the kind of pink you’d throw up after eating a dozen too many hotdogs at a football game. It was grotesque. But the architecture was a nice kind of vintage and nobody was in uniforms or walking in lines or caring that the two young men sharing a cigarette under the tree near the gate were holding hands. People were pierced and tattooed, others prim and proper, all completely free to express their individuality. There were Mohawks and miniskirts, blazers and boots. And James’ ripped, skinny jeans and plain white T didn’t look awkward in the mix.

James forced himself to make a friend in his first class. Because he was tiny and had black eye liner on, sitting in the back of the prefab, looking as out of place as James felt amongst all the other design students. The way the classroom was buzzing with chatter made it feel as though everyone else already knew each other. So James sat beside him, only slightly shocked by the fact that his name was Loki. Because, although James had never heard the name before, he was almost too certain it was a girl’s name. But he didn’t give Loki a hard time about it and Loki didn’t tease James about his rabid donkey laugh and so the pair got along.

Loki wasn’t flamboyant, but he did have no regard for other peoples’ personal space, something James soon got accustomed to. He enjoyed it when Loki would hang on him in the corridors while they waited for their next class to commence. He looked forward to their time spent on the grass under the tree, sitting back to chest with Loki whispering ridiculous notions about how badly he knew James wanted him.

They were two weeks into college when Loki introduced James to the rest of the guys, more out of obligation than choice.

“You don’t even say hello anymore?” A guy had suddenly called out.

He was sitting on the steps, legs splayed out and cap low, hiding short black hair. His smile spoke volumes; he knew he’d effortlessly gotten under Loki’s skin with just that single line. Loki stopped his purposeful march up the stairs and sighed dramatically before tugging James’ hand.

As they approached, the boy in the cap sat up. Even behind the incredibly over-sized sunglasses, James could feel his gaze on him.

“Hello Tony how lovely to see you my day has been made we must do this again some time.” Loki bent over, pulling the red trucker cap off long enough to place a chaste kiss on the larger laughing boy’s head.

There was something about him James immediately didn’t like. Perhaps it was the way he tilted his head back, emptying whatever was left in the bottom of his corn chips bag into his gaping maul. Or maybe it was the way he lit up a cigarette; a mere two paces away from a sign that was clearly meant to prohibit the act on college grounds. But still, as he held the box up, and Loki sighed dramatically before sitting down beside him, James felt obligated to do the same.

James desperately muffled a cough, trying hard to look nonchalant as the foreign wave of nicotine made his head spin. He didn’t even care that he was momentarily forgotten as the other two boys engaged in light chatter about a sick grandmother and the upcoming Asgard Festival. It gave James time to convince himself that the world wasn’t spinning and he hadn’t just been drugged. It wasn’t until three more boys joined them that James’ introduction became necessary. Because the one guy, who found it necessary to sing his greeting first thing in the morning, managed to skilfully incorporate the question into his freestyle rap song. And his jeans were barely hanging onto his narrow hips as he gave James an exaggerated handshake, the type you’d see in hip-hop videos.

His name was Sam. 

The second guy looked as though he’d just ended his night-shift at the mortuary, the undertaker expression unchanging, even as he offered James his hand. All his moves were slow and calculated, as he sat down and lit up a cigarette, sighing deeply as if that simple task had been so upsetting that he needed therapy for a year.

His name was Jarvis.

The third guy looked regular enough until he opened his mouth to speak. James never thought it humanly possible for _panic_ to be an accent, but this guy had a thick one of it. James found it incredibly appealing, more so since he was the only one who offered a smile, though laced in trepidation. 

His name was Bruce.

And three minutes later when Loki finished his cigarette and James prayed none of them would notice him stamping his out, Loki excused the both of us, tugging me into the building almost dutifully. And James found out that the first guy with the red trucker cap, his name was Tony. And something told James there was a reason Loki had been trying to avoid him all together in the first place, a reason for which he didn’t care to mention. So James didn’t ask.

James didn’t like Tony. It didn’t hurt that Tony had blatantly ignored. Or that Tony had changed the subject every time the other boys had made an effort to know what type of music he like, and which school he’d come from and what he was majoring in. It didn’t hurt because the new James promised himself he’d stop seeking the approval of assholes like Tony. Because James had tolerated it his whole life and he wasn’t going to let it happen anymore.

James sat through every class that day, chewing on the bottom of his art pencil, wondering why the hell it hurt so much that Tony had purposely ignored him.


	5. “Ma’am, How Can I Take Any of You Lecturers Seriously in a Pink Building?”

**Present Time**

James hears the boys cheer on from the car as he rips the sticker off its backing, and tags the pink college building. The vinyl gleams softy in the night, and James makes sure to rub it down hard. It obediently covers the _No Smoking_ sign.

A tiny red light flashes, effortlessly grabbing James’ attention. There’s a new security camera in the high corner of the wall, one he hadn’t accounted for. James is hooded, somewhat out of sight. But even so, as he flashes both of his middle fingers at the camera, he still gets a thorough rush. His adrenaline is pumping as the boy’s cheers get louder. Waves of former rebellion coursing through every vein. He can get caught, he can get arrested, he can lose his job and every ounce of credibility he’s earned back from parents and colleagues and clients. But at this moment, James doesn’t care.

Tony Was Here.

James will smile in the police station and gladly say it again. That _is_ their next stop anyway, because Tony was there too.


	6. The Only Crime is Getting Court (Dates on Date Nights)

**7 Years Ago**

Everything was a blur and James honestly had no idea how he got there. He had no idea who those people were and why they were giving him cup after cup of an ashy beverage, forcing him to choke them down. James couldn’t quite grasp the questions being thrown at him, but he still tried to answer them. And then he finally realized exactly where he was, vision becoming clearer yet his confusion simply amplifying.

James stomach felt heavy and he was suddenly nauseous, because that particular hospital was no place anyone wanted to be. The last time James was there was after his brother got stabbed seconds after storming away from a verbal altercation with him. But the place had ample reasons for being disturbing, not just personal bad memories.

It was a government hospital, a place for all who had no proper medical aid to turn to. It was once one of the best hospitals in town. Maria had been born there and was once proud to mention it. Now, the staff was all underpaid due to corruption from the overheads. The patients were all viewed as burdens due to the nurses’ frustration. The beds were hardly ever empty, the floors stained with blood and the waiting area, full of injured people forced to look at each other and compare damage. The stories that James had heard of the things that had happened in that building were terrifying. Like the one of the lady who was forced to give birth in the corridor alone, while staff walked idly by.

The ward James was in was filled with beds, loud chatter, and people moaning in pain. The smell was horrendous, sort of what he’d expect death to smell like. Because some of the bodies were life-like, others completely covered in a white sheet, some stained a dirty red.

James looked at the two people in front of him, the man in spectacles urging him to drink down the charcoal while the lady continued to ask him more questions. And then James burst into tears, because a wave of something terrible washed over him and he was frustrated by the fact that he didn’t know what.

“Do you know why you’re here, James?” James was able to stare passed tear stained lashes long enough to be shocked by the concern in her eyes. “Do you know what you took? What were you given?”

And then the night came rushing back to him. Blurred images with blackouts of vital moments, yet enough clarity to piece together what got him to that point.

James remembered going out with the boys yet again. Whatever Loki had had against Tony seemed to have diminished rather quickly. Because he himself was the one who seemed to drag James along with them on Friday nights. When James found out that they intended on club-hopping as opposed to their usual hangout area with a bottle of whatever by the river, James had immediately become nervous. Because the entrance fee to the first club they’d already parked outside of was more than double what he had tucked away in his back pocket.

Within the sixths months James had been with them, he’d found out a lot.

Sam came from money. One could easily tell by the way he dressed and the gadgets he owned and his disregard to how he threw around bills. Jarvis worked a sturdy evening job during the week. And though it wasn’t at the morgue as James had assumed, it was enough to afford him a carton of cigarettes a week, a tiny pad near the beach, and to keep his motorbike maintained.

Bruce also had a part time job binding books at a renowned photo shop. The overtime was what kept his pocket heavy.

And James, James had a father who was absolutely fine collecting vintage cars that filled the driveway, but wasn’t fine with having a gay son at all. So the little James did make at his job at the video shop was enough to keep him from not having to ask his mother for every single thing. It became rather clear that employees were not too keen on hiring a minor, high school dropout, with no experience. So the fact that he’d landed anything at all made him grateful, but still unable to keep up with the boys.

James also knew that Tony was worse off than him, living practically free off of Jarvis’s grandmother’s kindness. Paying off his debts by maintaining the house and yard and doing her laundry and groceries. Which is why he was the one James turned to, trying not to make his concern too obvious.

“Relax,” he had whispered back, smiling for the first time that night. “You don’t have to have money to have a good time.”

And that’s how James had ended up around the corner, five blocks down, crossing through a large, deserted park. Loki had looked distraught after hearing James was going with Tony instead of into the club with the rest of them, but he hadn’t protested. He had, however, pulled Tony aside to give him a lecture. One of which the only thing James could overhear was Tony’s constant laughter.

The shortcut brought the two boys into a different suburb altogether. The grass seemed greener and the houses larger. Tony and James had grown closer over the months, but not close enough to take the conversation further than light chatter. So when they finally arrived at their destination, James was shocked by the smile Tony gave him as he turned to fix James’ hair. He straightened James’ t-shirt, chuckling at the bewildered look on his face.

“Relax, you’ll do great,” he’d said, before turning his attention to the buzzer beside the large shiny silver gate. “Just don’t get too cosy.”

James didn’t really have time to think about what that meant, Tony was already talking into the intercom and the gate was sliding open.

The large house was lit up and well-kept and all square architecture.

Shortly after entering the front door, James felt a whole new level of discomfort. And it had nothing to do with how full the place was. Everyone’s laughter and chatter would have been terribly inviting in any other situation. James wasn’t even uncomfortable due the fact that everyone looked double if not triple his fifteen years of age. The few people who had noticed his presence didn’t seem to care that he was too young to be drinking the brandy that Tony had handed him.

James was hit with a wave of discomfort whenhe I followed Tony into the main bedroom just in time to find a blond man raising his head, sniffling as he rubbed his red nose. The white powder lined in neat rows on the dressing table making it perfectly clear that everyone was overly friendly and buzzed with a lot more than plain old Dutch courage.

Although a lot of that night’s events were a blur and names and faces forgotten, some memories flashed in James’ head as I sat in the hospital.

James remembered asking what the pills were and not getting a straight answer before taking two. He remembered feeling like he owned the world shortly after. He remembered every burden he’d ever felt lift off his shoulders. And he was laughing with strangers, consuming glass after glass of whatever he was given. He remembered lines of white disappearing in front of him as he took in one after the other.

James remembered confessions. A whole lot of confessions and deep conversations about abusive fathers and attempted suicides.

James remembered hands. He remembered being told he needs to lie down but not fall asleep. A stranger. His smile, the insane hotness of the other man’s lips over his own and their hips colliding and a cock in his mouth.

More pills, more hands, more lines.

And just as the last memory surfaced, James felt the charcoal he’d been forced to drink do the same. And he couldn’t make it to the bathroom quickly enough, not bothering to acknowledge that he didn’t even know where one was. And so James coated himself, and the floor in front of him with tar. Humiliation dragged out more tears, white gowns were fitted and an IV was stuck into his arm.

They wouldn’t let him sleep for in case he never woke up. They didn’t permit him much water. They didn’t have much sympathy for the delinquent who nearly overdosed himself into a coma.

So James spent the next three days in bed, stained black, staring up at the ceiling. Blocking out the pained noises of the people in the many beds around him. And every time his mother came to visit, he cried. But he never stopped begging her to make sure Tony wasn't behind bars. Left without bail.

Because oddly enough, James did remember Tony being the one who phoned the ambulance. And he had vague recollections of authorities stating that Tony was in huge trouble while he supplied them with as much information that he could about James’ age and name and parent’s and blood type. James remembered Tony throwing himself under the bus even though he'd never once offered James anything more than two drinks.

James begged his mother to help Tony because he knew nobody else would.

And so when she finally caved in, Tony was released and a court date was set. James’ mother went to every hearing. James was never allowed to see him again.

Four days after his final court hearing, Tony and James shared more than their first kiss.


	7. Like Deer knocking on Hunters' Doors

**Present Time**

Midgard has several police departments and God knows it needs every one of them. Beacon Bay, a fairly small upper-class suburb in Midgard has one of the smallest police departments James has ever been unfortunate enough to be in. A few too many times.

The place always feels claustrophobic, reeking of vile heat if temperature could have a smell. The paint on the walls is always chipped, a washed-out shade of mustard. And the floors always seem to have some sort of residue that prolongs your stride if you’re uneducated enough to not look where you're stepping.

The first time James was in there for something more jarring than certifying a document was when he was twelve.

And he blamed himself the entire time for every gruelling second spent in there. Because even though James was young, he had always been accused of being smart beyond his years. And he should’ve been smart enough to know that the nice, young-but-older man who'd become his pen pal and friend could be lying about so much more than just his age.

So, blinded by the need for an older man’s positive attention, and sympathy and acknowledgement and understanding, James had been easily tricked into a meeting that still shatters him to this day. Because police reports and ARV pills and court cases have a way of staying with you no matter how hard you try to claw the memories away. Like pulling nails out of wood then having constant nightmares of the holes that remain.

And the only reason James broke down and begged everyone to _leave him the fuck alone_ was because he couldn’t handle one more official or doctor or relative looking him in the eye and asking him to explain exactly how the stranger who he knew so well had raped me.

So James let his predator win a lot more than the loss of criminal charges and James accepted the post-traumatic stress disorder that he so graciously left James with. And James lied about how he had been lying about the entire scenario, and his mother never once bought it. But she also couldn't stand seeing her son suffering under the damaging spotlight and awful attention, so she dropped the charges. James and his mother never talk about it, the topic is eluded like a fatal epidemic. But sometimes she still looks at him sadly, and James recoils. She apologizes wordlessly and James walk away. A dance they've danced for a decade yet still haven’t been able to perfect a move as simple as the first step.

The second time James was in that very station was when his brother was busted for drug possession. It was a school night and he had a big history test the next morning, but none of that seemed to matter. All that mattered was being there for his mother and sister as they rushed frantically from one station to the next in search of exactly which prison his father had ordered authorities to hold Brock in, so that he would finally learn his lesson. James failed the history test the next day, his first test ever failed and the beginning of many.

The third time was the very afternoon Darcy had shown James her bruises in the girls’ bathroom. She wasn't his girlfriend, regardless of the countless rumours going around the school about how they'd crossed third base in the science lab. But James couldn't be surprised by his single-minded peers' sexual creativity considering how close Darcy and he were. Her bruises were appalling, like gothic maps running up the backs of her upper thighs and the part of her bum James could see when she lifted her school dress high enough.

The weapon had been a cricket bat.

The assaulter, her stepfather.

The reason being, she refused to stop dating a black boy who she swore she loved and who loved her too.

_Black_ being her parents main concern. Not the fact that her grades were a mess, or that she was constantly running away from home, or because she was a fourteen year old having unprotected sex. It was because the boy she was doing it with was a person of colour.

She didn't have to ask James to help her twice, though she did ask ten times as she cried on his shoulder either way. So James spent most of the afternoon in that small dingy police station, before taking a ride in the back of a police van. James spent most of the ride desperately avoiding being slammed against too much of the filthy interior as the policeman drove with what felt like deliberate disregard to the speed limit, stop signs and sharp corners.

And then James found himself clenching his fists and jaw, huddled, out of sight in the van as he listened to Darcy's stepfather deny every allegation with the conviction of a priest.

Put on the spot, in front of two officers and her stepfather, Darcy denied it too.

Darcy didn't know what they were talking about.

Darcy thought it might be some of the other bitchy high school girls pulling a prank on her to get her into trouble.

Darcy would never make up elaborate stories like that. Not ever.

The policemen apologised to her stepfather with no further investigation, drove James back to the station and nothing was ever done about the many bruises that continued to spontaneously bloom days after that. Darcy left town to live with her real father before the week was over. James heard she has a healthy baby boy now. He doesn’t know his name. He hasn't spoken to her since.

The next time James was in that station; a while after meeting Tony Stark, the police officers began to know him by name.

James only has a short time to remember all of this because Jarvis has to work fast. The lights in the police station are on, harsher spotlights blaring over the small, front parking area. And regardless of James suggesting Jarvis goes to the back, he is ignored.

Jarvis is stubborn and all it takes is a few whispered words of encouragement from Bruce and Sam for Jarvis to be rushing out and ducking between vinyl-badged vehicles. That's all it takes for James to be reminded about why he walked away from all of these guys in the first place.

Apart, they are somewhat decent human beings.

Apart; Bruce has now settled down in a place of his own with his girlfriend. He's convinced she's the one. Although he misses Midgard, he loves the fact that, in his new town, he's surrounded by family. The same family James can swear he remembers Bruce saying he'd never want to see again. Bruce works a sturdy job with occasional ridiculous hours, but he's doing what he loves. He does things like going fishing on weekends and he's even mended ties with his estranged father.

Apart; Sam now drives an S-Class and impulsively turned half of his house into a recording studio. Two groups that are signed under his label have made it to MTV while the rest still preform successful gigs at local clubs on student nights. Some even open for the country’s more famous celebrities that are kind enough to leave the grandeur of the larger states to grace the little towns with their talent. And regardless of how many times James raises a sceptical brow, Sam's not part of a pyramid scheme. He just signed up for some company his parents had advised him to, after their friends had advised them to, and now he watches his money make money that comes from people who make less than he does.

Apart; Jarvis still chain-smokes, occasionally gets high and dresses like he worships the dark side. But he is also planning on trading in his motorbike for a four-seater so that his fiancé’s daughter's baby chair can fit safely in the back seat. The man went as far as showing us wallet photos of how cute the family looks together; a very uncharacteristic display that had James thinking he still gets high on more than just marijuana. Jarvis has just recently been promoted to assistant manager of the same store he once cleaned floors for when he was seventeen. And James won't be the least bit surprised if the next time they meet, he tells them he's running the place. If they ever meet again. James honestly doubts they should. Because when apart; they are somewhat decent human beings.

Together; they are the type of guys who tag a police station for a dead friend who pissed on that very same wall.

James only lets out the breath he’s been holding when Jarvis re-enters the car and Steve takes off. Jarvis basks in his post-felonious glow; while the other guys tell him how crazy he is in a way that has 'crazy' sounding like 'godly'. James silence must be way too loud and Steve looks over at him. His smile asks James if he’s had enough for one night yet and James hopes the glare he returns reminds Steve that the only reason he’s there is to be the silent, designated driver. James doesn't need his sympathy or kindness or reassurance that his chest isn't being crushed as his anxiety levels start to flare.

James doesn't need it and doesn't deserve it because he’s the one who left Tony.

He stares out of the passenger window, only allowing his faint refection to share with him that one tear of self-blame. Self-denigration. The boys in the backseat start arguing as the car rolls further away from the station and James begins feeling a little less nostalgic. Jarvis keeps saying they're not going to do it. Sam and Bruce keep insisting they are. They’re all shouting orders at Steve, demanding he take the freeway, the backroads and the route along the train station all at once.

"We're doing it," James says over his shoulder. And it’s impossibly final. Feels final from the way the argument stops altogether.

James smiles as he takes a hearty sip of beer. How on earth could they _not_ tag Jarvis's grandmother’s van?

It is, after all, one of the primal reasons they were at the police station in the first place.


	8. “Just Because His Hands are Down My Pants, Doesn't Mean I’m Gay”

**6 Years Ago**

It started in the early eighties. Back then he was just an ordinary coach trying to raise money for their local country club. It was a nice way of thanking the club for allowing their school to use club grounds for sport practices.

The ordinary coach suggested an ordinary barbecue on an ordinary farm. Twenty odd years later, that coach is a legend in the state and that barbecue is now known as The Parilla.

Once a year, scores of people travel from all around the country and gather at Bathurst’s showground to be a part of the celebration that now expects at least ten thousand people each year.

James had never heard about The Parilla, let alone been to one, so he didn’t know what the guys were so hyped up about and why there was absolutely no way they could miss it. James hardly thought paying twenty dollars for entrance into farm grounds was worth whatever said Parilla (by the way, James did the research and it just meant barbecue in Spanish) was, and hated that he had to pitch in an extra ten to pay for the van's right of admission. But he did anyway. Because Tony really wanted him to go along with them. All the guys did, but Tony had been overly nice to him for quite some time and James felt himself rather enjoying the little solidarity that was rapidly growing between them.

It was either out of guilt or gratitude; James didn't care to think too much into it. It had been a few weeks since the hospital incident and Tony had been missing a class or two weekly to make courtroom appearances with James mother. Tony didn’t need a legal guardian to appear in front of the magistrate, having turned eighteen a good few months back. But James’ mother wouldn't let him go alone. An uneducated person might have thought she was with him to make sure her bail money didn't go to waste. To make sure he didn't skip a hearing or do something offensive that could have him put away longer. Or maybe she wanted to be a suffocating reminder of how his carelessness almost resulted in her own son's death. But James knew better.

James knew that his mother felt deeply, comprehensively indebted to her children. She felt like a failure as a mother. As the one who was supposed to protect them from the evils of the big, bad world out there. Her husband had pretty much the same intentions and successfully caged the children in from the terrors that hid around every corner, starving to corrupt their innocent minds and taint their youth. Away from strangers and exploitation and toxic influence. Keeping them home, where they were constantly with family. Ironically subjected to so much worse.

James knew what his mother saw in her children’s eyes, even though they would never verbalize how they felt. Too afraid that walls had ears, they’d wordlessly interrogated her, put her on trial every day. Ripped her heart apart with muted scars and hidden tears because they weren't allowed to cry. Their eyes asked her why she was allowing this to happen. Yet they weren't sure what was happening because they didn't know any other way it should.

All she could do was fill their childhood with I.O.Us. And she gave them plenty.

_I owe you one hug_. Because she naturally cowered away from physical affection.

_I owe you one pat on the back_. Because her praise was always monitored.

_I owe you one life lesson_. Because the way she was raised wasn't the right way a child should be raised.

_I owe you one Christmas_. Because she was always in too much pain to leave her room on special holidays, birthdays, extended family visits.

_I owe you one defence even though you're wrong_. Because I need you to forgive me.

_I owe you one get out of jail free card._ Please forgive me.

_I owe you one self-compromise_. Forgive me.

_I owe you whatever it will take for you to forgive me._

That’s why James knew better. He knew that his mother helping Tony was just an opportunity for her to scratch off another I.O.U. Personal reassurance that she still had some fight left in herself for her children. As a mother. Enough strength to make some of the pain go away now, if only to make up for what she couldn't vanquish back then.

It bettered James’ sister. The more their mother stood up for them, the more Maria had a female role model to aspire to. And they became mother and daughter, friends, more. Something anyone could see Maria had so desperately always wanted and completely deserved. Before then, James’ sister had been more of a mother to him, and so he guessed that early retirement must've been a relief for her.

The more James’ mother stood up for them, the angrier their father became. And confused. And scared. Because she kept throwing around divorce papers even though she never followed through. But for once, the papers were there. The papers became hope to the children. Weapons for my mother. A Warning to her husband.

Unfortunately, the more their mother stood up for them, the more it empowered James and his brother. Because they finally knew how to work the new system. They knew that no matter how much trouble they got themselves into, Mom would do anything to get them out of it. Because she owed it to them.

That's how Brock managed to end up getting himself expelled from yet another school. A lesser school that their mother had tried so hard to get him into. That's why he carried on smoking laced marijuana at frighteningly increasing levels, going as far as doing it in his room. That's how he nearly got a high school girl pregnant and began a careless streak of crashing their mother's cars. One after the other.

That's why James was on the R72 in the back of van, on his way to The Parilla instead of staying over at some old high school friend's house for the night like he told his parents he would be.

The van once belonged to Jarvis's grandfather, one of many vehicles that sat in the backyard over a car shaped bed of dead grass. James was told that a week never passed without him purchasing something from the classified ads in the Sunday Times. Whether it was a hand-made hunting knife with an intricately etched wooden handle, or a 1970 Pink Volkswagen Beetle, if he could afford it, he would buy it. Because his theory was, if it’s good enough to be sold, it’s worth being purchased.

Jarvis's grandmother hated his obsessive impulse purchase habits, always complaining about how the house was getting filled to the hilt with nonsense. Pointless artefacts that would never come to good use and cars that were gathering rust and housing questionable guests in the back yard. It was only after the old man passed away and she was free to start selling off goods that it became completely impossible for her to do so. Although the house remained a cluttered mirror image of her husband, she eventually found the strength to sell off the cars one by one. Jarvis and Tony would help a family friend revamp the cars before selling them off. It had taken less than a year to get rid of four cars, but Jarvis's grandmother refused to get rid of the yellowish Ford Econoline. She never told Jarvis why but he suspected it was his grandfather's favourite. After fixing it up it sat in the driveway like a cherished abandoned pet until Jarvis got his driver’s licence. Even after that he only used it to run his grandmother's errands every now and again. The fact that she was nice enough to allow them to take it ninety miles out of town was technically a miracle in itself.

The boys had stacked the back of the van with old duvets and pillows. There was a small mountain of junk food that consisted mainly of potato and corn chips, and their cracked cooler box had only managed to keep half of the ice frozen when they did finally reach their destination a good two hours later.

It was only after exiting the van that James realized how much he'd been deprived of fresh air. The bong that Tony and Sam had been passing between themselves left James with a slight contact high that was barely noticeable over the fuzziness in his head from the two cans of beer he’d been sipping on the way. Beer was never his choice of beverage. But something about hanging with the guys made him feel like keeping up with their testosterone levels. James tried to convince himself that it was not because he had _just_ casually “come out” to his mother that very same week. It had been a Wednesday afternoon after a spontaneous grocery shopping spree when they found themselves in a heated discussion about how preposterous it was for parents to disown their children due to sexual preferences. It had felt like the right time to come out with it and so after hearing her sustain that she'd still love him if he was gay, James had simply said, “That's a good thing, because I am.”

James always gets told that he was an idiot for telling his mother that he’s gay while she was driving. But in all fairness, she _did_ manage return to her lane, dodging oncoming traffic in time for no damage to be done to anyone. The confession followed a few seconds of relieved silence before they both burst out laughing.

James’ mother hadn't been lying, she did still love him. And coming out to her felt as though he'd simply told her he prefers pears to apples. It was too relaxed and too contented. And after coming out to his mother, coming out seemed to be all he could think about. He found himself wondering why it felt so necessary and where the necessity suddenly came from. It hadn't mattered so much before that.

James’ first kiss with another guy had been his brother's friend-turned enemy. Phil, an apex asshole who greeted James every morning with the middle finger. Phil never spoke to James after that blunder and directed his bullying elsewhere in the school corridors. The second had been with a man that managed to shut down James emotions and rip apart any and all desires he felt towards men. An experience that morphed into a disorder that had James tasting bile when he so much as thought about anyone touching him for the next two years. James had been adamant about staying celibate indefinitely, it had become such a strong decision that he started to forget to remind myself to abstain. The skin became too natural on him. So he couldn't understand what had changed. But something had.

And although James knew his mother had prior suspicions, coming out to her opened a door for him. And it made him feel as though he was allowed to forgive himself, and to forgive men, and give into professionally locked up emotions. Indulge in fantasies. Jerk off to Charlie Hunnam after making the uneducated mistake of accidentally watching Greenstreet Hooligans exactly four times in one week. Coming out began to feel vital as each minute past. Like he was wasting precious time and in a week he might not be gay anymore. And he would've wasted his sexuality and live in regret for the rest of his life. So he had to let as many people know that he was gay while it lasted.

And by the time the sun set and The Parilla started playing an entirely different beat, that is exactly what he had done.

The farm became a welcoming dense maze. Cars were parked everywhere, doors left wide open with stereos on full blast. Nothing seemed to matter as the night progressed; cares grew thinner as the hours passed. There were different bands on different make-shift stages scattered around the farm. Their performances morphed into each other and mixed with the car radios until it all began to sound like one never ending song that changed only in genre the further one ventured. In the closed off vicinity, with two tons of meat being flame grilled above beds of seasoned potatoes and freshly chopped wood, the police would walk around to keep people in line but not slow them down. Some people had taken to picnicking on the ground, others relaxing on the rooftops of their cars while most refused to stop moshing to whatever rhythm they could follow. There was an endless supply of beer and meat and an endless supply of friendliness, James conceded, when he announced to another group of strangers that he was gay and they cheered wildly in response.

James had been car hopping all night, so captivated by the vibe of the evening. But it was that particular group that he stayed with the longest. Because James met a girl, the most fascinating young lady he had ever come across. Her name was Natasha. She had a considerable amount of tattoos that James could barely make out on her bronze, bared flesh. Her bikini top and sheer sarong doing little to hide her body. She was slim, slightly curvy with an amazing set of legs she claimed she had her mother's genes to thank for. Her hair was long and blood red, a tangled mess of _almost_ dreadlocks and the flowers in her hair punctuated her character. James could picture her dancing to Enya under a waterfall in a forest most explorers would search their whole lives for and weep upon finding.

She was barefoot with ankle bracelets, undeterred of what she might step on as she coaxed James into dance after dance to a nameless band. And then she introduced James to his first sigaweed. An emptied out cigarette, tobacco mixed with marijuana before being delicately refilled again. And so even as authorities passed by they continued to smoke, the usually potent smell lingering overhead and entwining with the more powerful, tantalizing smell of wood stroking heat through lamb.

"I'm gay,” James chuckled.

"I know," he laughed too, "you told me already."

And James should've been startled as he looked up into dark brown eyes. Because a man was holding him and they were close and James couldn't quite recall ending his dance with the little forest child and ending up with a man instead. But the man’s smile was beautiful, character lines defining his barely youthful face. Almost as if explaining that he'd been where James was right then and now he was older and he knew the world. And the man wasn't large but his shoulders were broad, body firm and warm, so delicious that James found himself sinking further into the embrace.

The two of them weren’t dancing; it didn’t feel like they were. It felt more like they were feigning a sturdy grip on the art of standing up straight. But no one seemed to be paying them any attention, nothing seemed to matter. And when James did look up at him again, it had been to stupidly ask him if he was gay too, but James never got that far. His lips were over James’ and James lost all train of thought apart from his brain feeling it necessary to keep reminding him that he was gay and he was kissing a man. And that it was okay. And that he could jerk off to Charlie Hunamm as much as he wanted to. And then a pair of arms came around James’ middle and he was being pulled away.

"What the fuck?" someone mouthed the words James was screaming in his head.

"He's fucking sixteen, man," came Tony's voice from right behind James. A quick look over his shoulder revealed the frown in his words morphed into the growl that had echoed through his chest against James’ back. "Try your luck elsewhere."

And then Tony was navigating them through crowds and in between cars, seemingly knowing exactly where he was going. Purposely walking faster whenever James slowed down to better watch his step. James couldn't quite tell whether or not Tony was angry with him, his silence made James question himself. Wonder if he’d done anything wrong. But James had little time to dwell on it because they were soon back at Jarvis's grandmother’s van and Jarvis's attempt at dancing vacuumed all other reasons for rational thinking too quickly.

James laughed along with the other guys at what looked more like an upright seizure to the lyrics and beat of a Black Eyed Peas song. James didn't even protest when Tony leaned into him where he’d managed to perch himself against the van to enjoy the show. If James had thought about it long enough, he would've been irritated. Because Tony was practically trapping James against vehicle, large form sandwiching him in. Instead, James accepted the plastic cup Tony offered him and tried to get as comfortable as possible with his chin propped up on Tony’s shoulder.

"Holly shit," Sam exclaimed, "look what's happening here."

And though his words were slightly slurred and fringed with laughter, James snapped his eyes open, eager to see what had the boys so amazed.

"I had no idea, man," Bruce stated, mouth slightly agape, eyes darting from Tony's eyes and then lower and then up again.

"Fuck off," Tony chuckled and James could've sworn he felt him jerk just a bit. "Who gives a shit, feels good."

It was only when Tony laced his fingers around James’ wrist and pulled James’ hand away from his crotch did he start to feel the fatigue drift away all too quickly. James’ face flushed a shade redder than the crimson already staining his cheeks and felt his heart speed up. Yet somehow, in the mix of it all, he didn’t seem to be as phased as I should've been.

Perhaps it was the way Tony was smiling at him when he finally turned around, forcing James to look up at him with his hand on his jaw. Tony dislodged the crumpled up plastic cup from James’ hand and tossed it aside before asking Bruce to throw him a water bottle from the broken cooler box beside him.

"Wanna lie down for a bit?" Tony asked and James nodded. If Tony wouldn't accept his quiet apologies the least he could do was relieve him of his babysitting duties and further molestation so that he could enjoy the rest of his night in peace.

But even after James was lying down in the back of the van and Tony had made sure James had enough pillows under his head, Tony didn't leave.

Tony hovered above James, their foreheads touching as he mumbled something completely incoherent. The night was still alive outside, music still blaring, cheers and laughter and disk jockeys still asking everyone if they were having a good time. But it was tinny and annoying against the sound of Tony breathing. James’ own heart pounding. His jacket rustling as he wrestled it off.

"Fuck," Tony panted, sounding defeated against James’ skin. Burying his face in his neck, biting softly. Holding James, clearly wanting something. Possibly more than James could give but he was willing to try because there was something so desperate about the hug that made it feel explicitly intimate.

"Tony?"

"Just close the fucking door," Tony half yelled, half laughed over his shoulder to whoever it was, seemingly as annoyed as James was by the intrusion. And although Tony was laughing, there was something terribly troubling about the way he looked at James that night. The way he'd been looking at him for a while since the night James nearly overdosed. All along James had thought it was either a look of guilt or gratitude. James had been terribly wrong. And his laughter fell away and desire intensified as they slowly shed enough for their bare chests to be touching. There had never been any gratitude, Tony was never grateful for anything because he deserved the world. There had never been a touch of guilt, he never did anything wrong.

There was something remarkably different about kissing a stranger and kissing someone who'd wrecked their way into your life. Someone who had disarmed the alarm and picked the lock and dragged themselves in, leaving marks of desperation the deeper they went. Scraping varnished surfaces and ripping off curtains while missioning deeper still, fighting through your subconscious army designed against just such intruders that reflected demons from your past. A stranger would never have gotten that far, let alone found James’ safe.

Tony found James’ safe that night. And it didn’t scare James as much as it should've. Because he’d known all along that someone was bound to find it, and for those painfully beautiful, uneducated minutes that felt like forever, James was overjoyed that it was Tony.

In that moment, Tony and James met.


	9. The Sunrise Opens Eyes and Unties Disguised Lies

**Present Time**

Once you've shed a tear, no matter how much you try, you can't uncry that moment. It’s there, forever. A fixed memory for you and all who were there to witness it happen. As a child, James was forbidden from crying. The more he cried the louder his father would shout. The louder he'd shout the louder James would cry. The louder James cried the harder he'd hit until I couldn't cry anymore. Because there's a certain level of weeping you reach where it all becomes inaudible and the world becomes silent save for your sanity willing you to remember that you were smiling yesterday and you may have a chance of smiling again tomorrow if you just keep breathing.

James never grew up viewing crying as a weakness. Crying was his ineffable horror.

Crying made James miss friend’s birthday parties and church camps and lose privileges to use the swimming pool or the tire swing. It got James dragged out of bed at three in the morning to be lectured about his insignificance until five. Crying got James left at home alone while the rest of the family went away on that weeklong vacation they’d been talking about all year. Crying was taboo and that’s the only reason why James’ anxiety levels begin to flare whenever he feels the need to cry.

It's the same feeling every time, the chill that rattles his bones and makes him outwardly shake, his body reminding him that he’s doing something terribly wrong. The hairs on his arms stand on end, getting lazier the damper his skin becomes. His jaw aches and breathing quickens and he wonders how fucked up a man has to be to get physically sick from something as natural as shedding a tear.

James feigns rubbing his face to wipe the tears away as Sam leaps out of the car and sneaks into Jarvis's grandmother’s yard. The neighbour’s dog is barking, tiny yaps that will only cause concern should it discontinue. The neighbour’s little dog was always barking, James remembers vividly from nights he spent tossing and turning in Tony's bed.

Quigney is never completely asleep. It has a bunch of randomly placed taverns that sell alcohol long after all the town’s bottle stores have closed for the evening. There’re also an equal amount of small shops that offer bread and toilet paper and small impulse purchases like chips and beef jerky and loose cigarettes. The dodgier unmarked houses offer marijuana and crack to the customers who can prove their unlawfulness. A single name can be the difference between you entering and exiting unharmed with your desired poison, or you being beaten to a pulp as a warning to the junkie who sent you.

In Quigney you have to be streetwise and pathetically inhumane. You can't stop to help the man bleeding on the ground under the streetlight; chances are you’ll be found there the next morning in that exact same spot with real wounds and your wallet gone and no clear recollection of what actually happened after the bottle hit the back of your head. You can't be kind to the young girls with high skirts and higher heels either, because their venom is often ten times worse than that of the men selling them. But to the minority, Quigney is just home. The rent is cheaper and taxi's more accessible and once your face is known, you become a part of the community. You're greeted by name in shops, no one bothers you in the streets at dodgier hours of the night and if some outsider is stupid enough to attack you, your neighbours will be jumping fences to come to your aid.

James had lived there once, right after moving back to Midgard having been away for seven months. Everyone still remembered his name in Quigney. And Amigo, the areas Pirate, even invited James over for a weed session, insisting the other guys missed him. That was Amigo's way of saying he was out of money and wanted James to come with some so that they could both get high. But James had changed a lot since leaving Midgard and he hadn't intended on changing back upon returning.

James had moved into the first bachelor pad he'd been shown, because he hadn't planned on staying there long and his parents’ house was not an option. He got a steady new job and decent colleagues turned friends, and he was actually beginning to lead a somewhat normal life. But it didn’t change the fact that he knew that Tony was just around the corner. Tony was a block and a half away the entire time and it took every ounce of his being to keep from going to see how Tony was. If he was still living with Jarvis's grandmother. If he was still alive at all. Although they'd all joked about not seeing themselves living to twenty, when alone with his thoughts, James was sincerely shocked that he’d made it to nineteen years old. He was dying to know if Tony had made it to twenty one.

Everyday James would take the twenty minute walk into town central to catch one of the only groups of taxis that travelled to the mall where he worked. He'd spend the next ten hours invading people’s privacy with their consent, developing photograph after photograph. It was always fascinating being offered photographic entry into people’s lives. It often left James feeling envious when he’d develop memories of families standing in front of the Eifel Tower or friends taking selfies on cruise ships.

When C and M and Y and K became too exhausting, James would take to the floor and try his hand at selling a camera or two. Or trick a customer into thinking they absolutely had to have that silver, diamond crusted frame which would make their wedding photo sparkle.

On good days Mr Lee would come in and bring them chocolates because he was thoroughly convinced that James and his colleagues were the sweetest group of people he'd ever had the privilege of being served by. And he said sweet people deserved sweet things. James often printed his photos double _by accident_ and told Mr Lee he could keep them since all his mistakes are waste and waste gets shredded anyway.

On bad days the QSS 3011 machine would start scratching the photo paper, or tracking black marks through images or just start printing everything too magenta or too cyan. On those days James had to roll up his sleeves and open up the belly of the beast. He called her Mjolnir . On really bad days, James would spend up to two hours draining each of her tanks one by one, cleaning out the sludge from all her vital spots and then mixing the chemicals with careful precision before filling her back up again. It was anyone’s guess whether or not she'd behave after that, but she usually did. Mjolnir just needed attention and James was more than happy to give it to her.

By the time James got home, he would usually be too tired to do anything more than eat dinner while watching re-runs of Raw or Smackdown and then sleep. It was an uneventful, monotonous, dull existence that James was content with. That all fell apart that one night he decided to pass through the bottle store on the way home.

Tony had been there that night. He was there with a girl. Her frizzy brown hair was tied in a chaotic ponytail and her shorts were skin tight, fringing far above mid-thigh. She had on fluffy boots and a large jacket which seemed both ridiculous and redundant considering the rest of her choice in wardrobe. But she was small and porcelain enough for James to understand what Tony had found appealing.

James hadn't seen him in over a year and he'd always had an imposing aura, but he managed to look all the more daunting with the girl in his arms as they scanned the brandy display.

James took two steps back, presence still conveniently unknown. Cigarettes could wait, that glass of red wine could wait. His sanity was more important. And James was halfway out the door before deciding to take his sanity into further consideration one more time. If he did walk away he was going to spend the whole night staring up at the ceiling playing out the _unplayed_ scenario in hishead, in every way imaginable. He was going to be doing that for the next few months and then some. It was going to dent his already pathetic attempts at having a social life because he would keep anticipating running into Tony again. And the many possibilities of what he would say when it happens and how he would say it. And what his excuse would be for leaving town with not even as much as a simple goodbye. So James took a deep breath and went back inside the liquor store.

A week later James was in that very house, upstairs in Tony’s room. Waiting patiently for Tony to stop shaking. Hoping his own high would wear off in time for him to remember who he was just enough for him to make it to work the next morning. James felt like a burning candle. Hot, flamed to life with the unfortunate incapability of moving. Invincible of sorts, because a candle never really disappears, it simply melts and transforms into something else. Something less, something nobody cares about. James had felt just like a burning candle.

It’s strange how it feels as though he can still hear the music as he looks up at Tony's bedroom window. It feels as though the light will go on because he's not dead, he just overslept. He oversleeps countless times and they're always forced to wait like this. He'll be throwing on whatever smells half decent now and running down the stairs, only to unapologetically enter the car with no more than a yarn. Any second now.

The door swings open and James hates the way his heart jerks.

"Done," Sam affirms unnecessarily, drumming the back of Steve's chair as if to further get his point across.

"The monument," Bruce suggests.

"We were just at the college, why didn't we go straight to the monument from th-" James stops, because it’s pointless arguing with these guys. They're already reminiscing the classes bunked and officers evaded and all that came with the art of mastering the monument.

"Go back to the college," James tells Steve, because he looks as though he has absolutely no idea what any of them are talking about. He makes a swift U turn and heads back with no objections. James reaches back and taps Bruce's leg and he automatically knows to place the bottle of whiskey in James’ outstretched hand. James needs the hard stuff. It all only gets harder from here.


	10. College Steps Also have a Funny Way of Creating the Worst Kind of Triangles

**5 Years Ago**

They say that the way a person walks is a direct reflection of their personality. When James first came to the college, he mostly had his head down, both hands firmly grasping the straps of his backpack with white knuckles. His stride was purposeful, less out of actually knowing where he was going and more out of concern that someone might notice how pathetically frightened and clueless he was if he hung around in one spot for too long.

Two years later, on the first day of the new year, James’ walk had changed entirely.

James’ pace was slow, head cocked just high enough so as not to seem too cocky, yet cocky enough to reek vanity. Like a king in no particular rush to get to his throne because he knows nobody would be stupid enough to try and move in on his territory. James’ shoulders were back, arms loosely at my sides, a subtle way to jut my hips forward. To put himself on display. Because the investment broker he was with last week couldn't stop telling James how gorgeous his hip bones are long enough to finish the mediocre blowjob. The man kept murmuring about how James’ should show them off more as he kissed and licked and nipped from one side to the other. Missing the main point of why James’ pants were off entirely.

Taking his advice, James’ dark t-shirt didn’t quite reach the waistband of his jeans that were so tight the outline of his boxer briefs looked like part of the denim design. James’ black portfolio bag was larger that year, the single strap hung over his shoulder and across his chest. The cigarette that dangled from the corner of his mouth was still unlit. James didn't carry a lighter. There was something more rebellious about not being responsible enough to care to support your own addiction and mooching off of the people more responsibly irresponsible with their health. When James finally reached the steps, one of the third year business students James had befriended was more than happy to whip out his zippo and light James’ smoke. James knew it was more to show off the expensive accessory than willingness to help him, but he didn't care.

Someone made a comment about James’ sunglasses, but James wasn't paying much attention. He was too busy hiding behind their deceptive shade. The college steps had one long white rail in the centre, one James hadn't paid much attention to until the day Tony and the guys were on the other side of it. Everything had changed after The Parilla. The lack of talking about it only further aggravated the awkwardness until James found himself drifting away from Sam and Bruce, Jarvis and Tony and blending in with the art majors instead. Where he belonged.

James still isn’t sure what he'd been expecting the night after Tony and he made love in the back of Jarvis's grandmothers van. He surely hadn't been expecting be steered into a one-armed brotherly hug when he'd been going in for a kiss the next morning. He hadn't expected Tony riding up front to avoid the awkwardness of being close to him for the rest of the sickly drive home. James certainly hadn't expected hearing that the van had been reported stolen.

Because Jarvis hadn't asked for permission to use it. And James found out that the other guys hadn’t been exaggerating when they’d said they’ll make it to The Parilla even if it sends them to jail. And Tony dutifully took the blame, even though it wasn't entirely his fault. And Jarvis's alibi involved him not knowing a thing about anything. And in the police station there was a twisted understanding between Tony and Jarvis that made James realize they had been ready for this long before leaving Midgard. Tony was lucky that Jarvis's gran dropped the charges as soon as the van was back in one piece and she received the keys and an apology. But the fact that Tony was willing to violate his probation for one night of fun, risk landing a sentence much worse for friends. That alone made James rethink his decision of associating himself with Tony Stark.

Unfortunately, when it came to emotions, it wasn't so easy to just turn off switches.

Tony chose that moment to look over at James and James didn't bother looking away. A small smile crept up to his face and he didn't fight that either. He gave a half-hearted wave and Tony returned it easily. It wasn't like they weren’t still friends. But the comradeship had deteriorated. They were more acquaintances who happened to know the key triggers to making the other orgasm. They often ended up at the same parties, or clubs and barn fire barbecues on the beach. They never arrived together and they always left separately. But, whether it was his own wishful thinking or not, James often felt Tony’s eyes on him. And when those moments did occur James would flirt harder with whoever he was talking to, or laugh louder. James wanted Tony to know that he was fine without him, that Tony didn’t define his emotions. That Tony too meant nothing to him. James wanted Tony to hurt as much as he hurt every time Tony had a new girl around his arm.

James had one boyfriend since being in that college. He was a ridiculously tall chap whose father was British and mother French. He was very feminine but not flamboyant, fragile and idealistic and far too romantic for James’ cynical existent. It ended the second James felt himself being dragged into a college rendition of Jerry Springer, an ex, unwilling to let his boyfriend go without a fight. And so James shrugged and made it easy for everyone by stepping out of the ring before the first bell was rung.

James had countless flings too, nameless faces he'd numb himself to, just to make it through the night. Just to be away from home and sobriety and reality and pain. Regret was a common thing that mirrored in the eyes of the men he'd wake up to the next morning. He’d tried to train himself not to care whether or not they'd pocketed their wedding band before opening their car door for him. He tried but it never worked. And so James allowed himself the guilty pleasure of self-hate, and closed doors to genuine prospects. The wholesomely good men who didn't try to get into his pants on the first date. The ones who sincerely saw good in him and didn't need toxins to have fun. James closed himself off to everyone because for some fucked up reason, he was still waiting for Tony.

And then something happened.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he was snapped from his thoughts. It was Sif and Heimdall, two of the fourth year art students joining the group as they sometimes would. Only, they weren't alone.

"Hey guys," Sif beamed at everyone, letting go of James before taking a seat. The newcomer sat down next to Sif, elbows on knees, head slightly bowed causing long blond locks to fall in his face. He had a stud on the right side of his mouth below his lower lip. Every time he did look up his piercing blue eyes composed numerous sympathies expressing dangerously beautiful tales. And when he smirked while Sif introduced him to everyone as his brother, I was certain his cheeks weren't the only ones flushing that pesky shade of red. Sif called him Thor.

Weeks after that, James had been grateful when Thor even so much as smiled at him. He was too nervous around the new guy to notice them actually becoming friends. There was a certain type of flame that lit up whenever Thor was doing anything he was passionate about. He was like a large child, eager to learn and determined to better himself at every turn. It all shone through in the way he played his acoustic guitar and sang the songs he'd written during their calmer recesses spent on the soccer field. Or the way he'd get that particular grin and practically bounce when a lecturer showed him a new trick on CorelDraw that was bound to make his designs ten times better. That's why when Thor started asking James for advice and following him into the darkroom and all but literally branding James his mentor, James had assumed it was strictly peer-respect (being the only art student to win best-all-round artist stature two years in a row). But then Thor suggested the two of them start hanging out socially after college hours.

Soon Thor and James were inseparable. Sleep overs dragged on for days, composing music together became their favourite thing and video game battles got more aggressive. Thor introduced James to his high school cronies and they all introduced James to base-jumping. They'd spend weekends jumping off bridges into rivers, rocks into lakes. The adrenaline brought a different sort of high that had him buzzing long after calling it a day. And James’ monotonous old self seemed to effortlessly slip away because simply put, he would try just about anything Thor suggested and Thor believed in trying everything once.

Which was the only reason James agreed to go with Thor to the monument during a double class of textile design.

James never been to the monument. There was a large park area just beside the college grounds. It had a small fence around it, low enough to step over, and benches spaced out, circling the large statue right in the centre. The actual monument held some sort of historic significance that James doubted even its most frequent visitors could explain. Because the marble statue wasn’t the attraction at all.

The monument was infamous for being the spot where all the potheads met to sell, buy and share their weed. It was strange how it wasn't a secret, yet every time the cops drove by they never did more than roll down their petrol vehicle windows, give the place a good look and then drive off. There were never any searches and no word of any arrests, even though a blind man passing would be able to smell what was going on.

The first time James went to the monument with Thor was one of those rare defining moments that leave you convinced that a single decision can alter the course of your entire life ahead. James wasn't the least bit surprised to see Tony, Sam and Jarvis at the monument, eyes small and red and seemingly very much at peace with the world. He wasn't surprised that Bruce wasn't with them since he and James had always declined together, opting to go and shoot pool in the cafeteria instead. What did shock James was the fact that, until then, he had somewhat completely forgotten about Tony altogether. He’d been far too preoccupied with Thor, genuinely too distracted to keep an eye out to make sure if Tony was watching as James had been doing in the start. James had been shocked further when Tony rose to his feet upon seeing him, swinging his bag over his shoulder before leaving the monument.

"What the fuck, man?" was all that Thor said to the somewhat stranger who body-checked him while making his exit. Tony didn't look back, he just kept walking and it took all of James’ will power not to go after him.

And James didn't give in. James asked himself what reason he had to. He could come up with nothing. It isn't as if Tony ever cared about his feelings or emotions or him as an individual at all. Tony never cared about James as much as James once cared about Tony.

The fact that James still cared about him far too much was what scared him most.


	11. Welcome Home to my Heart's Silent Rage

**Present Time**

Every man has a limit. Thor was Tony's limit.

It didn't matter that he wasn't sober minded or that he wasn't smooth or that he wasn't calm. He was a complete mess. A hopeless mess and all James could think to do was fix Tony as best as he could with everything he had. With anything Tony wanted. James had months of bottled up anger ready to explode with just one twist of the lid, but he held back nonetheless. Because the fact of the matter was that Tony was sorry. Tony was sorry and he was letting it out and James’ own pain didn't seem important as long as Tony’s was erased. Tony was sorry and he was kissing James and he didn't want James to be with anyone but him.

Back then, that had been the most powerfully romantic thing anyone had ever said to James. The words had shaken his core, rattling his senses and gripping his heart until it bled replica connotations. Tony didn't want James to be with anyone but him. It was a dizzying sensation. It felt like taking a deep breath under water, that breath you’d been holding to stay alive. Only, upon accepting your fate, instead of water, your lungs were immediately filled with oxygen and your purpose restored. Back then it was wonderful because James didn't realize what he truly meant.

Tony not wanting James to be with anyone but him didn't mean Tony wanted to be with only James.

James is suddenly bitter. The same bitterness he’d felt the day Tony accompanied a friend to her prom. Because although Tony and James were not exclusive and nobody knew that more of his nights were spent in Tony’s bed, it ripped James apart to have to listen to how he'd screwed her at the after party.

James tries to deflect my rage as Bruce jumps back into the car. There's already talk about heading to Buccaneers and strategies being thrown about on how to tag the actual counter-top in the pub without being caught. James tries to forget all the unsettled arguments he ever had with Tony. All the unresolved heartache. He can't still be angry with Tony anyway. It’s redundant being angry with the dead. James is not angry with Tony, not at all.

James is insanely furious.


	12. Beds, Bullies and Something Else We All Can't Remember

**Present Time**

James never slept without assistance from some sort of sedative, be it from doctor’s office or bottle store. And although inebriated, James was one of those heavy dreamers yet light sleepers. His dreams came in abundance and were so vivid that James would often question whether or not he’d gotten any sleep at all. But he didn’t complain, he looked forward to the mayhem he could wreak without consequence every night. But it was the dreams he had about Tony that always left him confused - that still leave him baffled and annoyed and feeling terribly young and stupid. His inability to differentiate between illusion and the waking world often led him to claw at his flesh, if only to see if the marks would still be there the next day. Tony and James had spiralled so deep together into none-existence where they'd build their own cities and write their own fairy tales that it became insanely impossible to tell what was real and what wasn't anymore. When it comes to Tony, James can no longer tell if it’s just a dream, if it's a memory or if it's a pathetic fantasy of what could've been. It certainly is Deja vu that washes over James, he acknowledges as he slides into the bench on the wooden deck outside. The night is cold and James sinks deeper into his hoodie, focussing his gaze on the vicious waves crashing against rocks only meters away far below them. If he huddles a little closer to Steve, it’s solely to take advantage of his body heat against the chill of the evening. Not at all because James is so used to doing the exact same thing to Tony at that exact same spot on nights just like this.

It’s no surprise that Buccaneers is packed. James has already hugged two old friends on the way in and half-heartedly waved at another group at a table near the back. They're lucky to get a spot at all on the infamous wobbly bench overlooking the angry ocean. Regardless of its instability, Jarvis still hops up onto the table before dropping down to casually lay atop it like it’s a wooden hammock. Bruce disappears back into the pub with a tag in his back pocket and deviance sparkling in his usually innocent eyes and Sam announces that he'll pay for the first round of drinks.

"He doesn't drink," James states casually before Steve can turn down Sam's offer.

"No, it’s okay," Steve smiles at James before nodding at Sam, "I'll have whatever Bucky's having."

James frowns, staring at Steve who is suddenly marvelling with false concentration on his keychain. James hears Sam say his name, prolonging the last syllable as if James is wasting his time by saying nothing.

"A Miller," James only half takes in his own order. Jarvis orders something harder as he lights up a cigarette and tosses the box in front of James and Sam's already ducking his way back into the crowd.

"Since when do you -"

"One won't hurt," Steve interrupts James with a dismissive smile, He flicks his wrist, hitting the box of cigarettes away from James. It hits Jarvis's thigh and all the other guy does is crack one eye open before pocketing the box and shutting both eyes again. Steve digs in his pocket, fiddles a little before lighting another smoke for James, he's been doing that all evening. Only this time, he takes three drags before actually handing over the stick of nicotine.

"D'you remember what happened the last time we were all here?" Jarvis suddenly speaks and James is forced to tear his eyes away from a partially red faced Steve to direct his stubborn frown at Jarvis instead.

"Shut up, Jarvis."

"What happened?" Steve inquires despite James’ bitter order.

"Tony punched some guy so hard," Jarvis swings his fist for emphasis with a huge smile on his face. "Knocked him out. Almost gave the fucker a concussion."

"Why?" Steve's intrigue is genuine and James is once again reminded about how much of a child is hiding under the manly exterior.

"It was stupid," James sighs, and he can't help but shake his head. He tries not to remember too much of that night, he doesn't like it being spoken about but it was an occasion that was brought up whenever too many bottles had been opened and emptied.

"It was awesome," Jarvis disagrees, propping himself up on one elbow to better lay on his side. He completely ignores James’ death glare before he continues. "This really big guy, three times Bucky's size, punches him square in the jaw. Twice."

"It was a misunderstanding," James wastes no time answering Steve's wide eyes before his mouth thinks to work. "The place was overcrowded, I was tryna make my way through, I put my hand on the guy's back-"

"And he punched you twice?" Steve all but screeches and James’ cringes at the uncharacteristically high pitch.

"No," Jarvis perks up in a way that has always seemed to annoy James. Joy is an unnatural and annoying colour on him. "He socked Bucky once, Bucky turns back on him and calls him a fucking pussy so the guy decks him again."

"Were you okay?"

"Of course not," Jarvis answers the question that was clearly posed at James. "His lights were out. Took five guys to keep that animal from jumping back on Bucky and me and Bruce had to practically carry Bucky out of this place."

"It wasn't that bad," James tries to deflect the concern in Steve's eyes, save whatever shreds of dignity he might still have left.

"You bled your blue shirt black, Bucky," Jarvis scoffs, "It was that bad. Anyway, Tony and Sam were finishing off their joint by the time we get back to the car. Tony takes one look at Bucky and goes full Hulk in seconds. I point out the fucker who did it as he's being thrown out of here by the bouncers and Tony just went savage on him. Fucking hammered that guy into the ground, didn't even come up for air."

And they continue to talk about it, even after Bruce explains how he managed to tag the underside of the bar's countertop to ensure that it will most likely remain there for as long as _Buccaneers_ is still standing. They continue to talk about it even after Sam returns juggling bottles in both hands. They go on about it until the story runs flat and they move on to something else as they idly empty their bottles. Because for most of them, that story ended as soon as they left _Buccaneers_ before the manager made true on his promise to phone the police. But the night never ended there for James.

James remembers Tony's hands stained with both of their blood, because even though Tony had caught James’ attacker off guard, the guy was still too steroid-driven to be stunned long. And as they stripped down in Tony’s bathroom and stepped into the shower, they both seemed more determined to wash the others' muck away, and smoothen the others' bumps and bruises. And James rested his head on Tony’s shoulder and shut his eyes, wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist. Because that always seemed like the most logically stupid and dangerously safe place to be. And he felt Tony’s arms come around him, Tony’s hand moving up to massage his scalp, lips brushing against his ear. And James knew that Tony was angry with him. He was angry that James didn't defend himself, that he couldn't even fight his own battles. Angry that James wasn't strong enough, that he was in pain. Tony was furious with the fact that he cared. That he'd lost control with the intense urge to make someone else pay for causing James pain. Tony was angry and frustrated and he blamed James for the insane probability that he might be falling in love with him.

James ran his fingers over Tony’s knuckles in bed that night; they were already swelling and changing an awful shade of pink and green. Tony flexed his hand in response as if to show James that it wasn't as bad as it looked, covering his palm over James’ chest. Over his heart. A wordless promise that he'd be willing to do that again and again for as long as that beat was still able enough to respond to his touch.

It was never fun for Tony to take pain killers for their intended purpose, but he'd obeyed James’ request and the harsh mixture of codeine and exhaustion soon made him drift off. And even something as animalistic as Tony's snores became something James found himself unable to sleep without, so it didn't take long for him to follow suit shortly after.

When James opens his eyes he’s forced to jerk his head away from the snapping fingers right in front of my face. The other guys laugh and Jarvis doesn't even look slightly apologetic for waking James from his near slumber on Steve's shoulder.

"Come on, Bucks," Sam's placing shot glasses in front of all of them, the clear liquid in them swishes but doesn't spill. The lemon and salt on the tray perched on Jarvis's lap make James roll his eyes. "Only two more tags and two more destinations. Don't fade out on us now."

James bypasses the lemon and salt, emptying his glass while Sam animatedly teaches Steve the art of drinking tequila. James’ head swims with unwelcome light memories as Bruce and Jarvis talk about going down to Arcadia next. It’s a business district, buzzing with warehouses and factories and a dead train track running right through it. Used car lots and garages all close by 5PM. It also has a building that was once a go-cart arena. There are mixed rumours that go around about why it shut down when it was doing so well, all of which lead to the death of some kid that every second person claims to have known. It became a skating rink shortly after that and then a bowling alley less than a year later. Paintball signs were erected and then taken down even before the first gun was loaded. James hasn't been there since the evening they got so annoyed by the faulty pinsetters that they stopped in the middle of their bowling game, demanded a cash refund and then blew it all on multiple rounds of pool and beer under the same roof instead. James hears it's a mellow jazz joint now where local bands play live and patrons enjoy good food and a cosy social vibe.

It’s an evolutionary sort of memory they all share separately. Sam remembers Tony burning his arm against what looked like a fake fuel drum after losing control of his cart when they were fourteen. The scar never went away; James has touched that scar numerous times.

Bruce remembers Tony slipping and falling, connecting his butt to the frozen carpet only seconds after stepping onto the ice. Jarvis remembers Tony insisting on them driving past the building every day during its renovation stages, just to see the progress. Because no matter how hard-core Tony liked to act, inside he was still a little boy dying to suit up and get a hold of that paintball gun and prove to his friends that he was more skilled than them in yet another activity.

And so the place may have changed more than any of them can remember, but the fact still remains, Tony was there every time it did. And so that is exactly where they are heading.


	13. The Art of Being Shitfaced and Making it Home Without Scars

**One Year Ago**

"I need you, Bucky," he slurred the words into my ear at 2:17 on a Thursday morning in August.

It took James’ brain longer than he would’ve liked to wake up, to realise what a big mistake he'd made by picking up the phone. Answering that call.  
  
"You said you'd always be there when I need you," Tony coughed and then paused and James could practically see him with a needle in hand as James squeezed his eyes shut. It didn't calm the heavy throb behind them. "I need you now, Bucky. Please, Bucks. Bucky-bear. Please."

"Alright," James breathed out as quietly as possible.

The room was dark save for the television flickering what looked like the end of yet another tired reality show about rich American teenagers. James could still smell stale traces of nicotine clinging to the curtains and the glass of water on the nightstand still sweated with the final traces of stubborn ice. James hadn't been asleep for long; work had been rough that day. The last thing he'd needed was an _unprescribed_ heavy dose of Tony Stark.

"I'm on my way, okay," James shuffled out of the bed, "just don’t do anything stupid."

It was extremely hypocritical of James to even suggest such a thing when he was willingly signing his own death warrant, but the tremble in Tony's tone never allowed him any rational thinking privileges. So he got dressed, brought his fingers to his lips and touched them down on Peter's cheek. James was going to lose Peter; he had known that long before letting Peter slide the engagement ring onto his unfaithful finger. The whole idea of stability and love screwed with the cynical side of James that Tony breathed life into daily. Peter Quill had somehow fooled James into believing he could be a better man. A stronger man. But all it took was one second of Tony to snap James back to reality. To butcher his idealisms of happily ever after.

Tony managed to get himself looking more dead than most corpses James had seen in B rated movies, far more convincing than most make-up artists could achieve with multiple degrees in their back pockets. That morning was no different. James used the key that Jarvis's grandmother always placed in the pot plant by the door to let himself in and snuck up to Tony’s room.

The Smashing Pumpkins were singing low on the stereo in the corner, so low that James could barely make out the whiney repetitive lyrics. The floor was covered with Tony's dirty laundry; his dumbbells perched clumsily against one wall and used dishes stacked up on the disorderly table beside his computer. The monitor was the only thing offering light, a page opened to nothing but a blinking curser. The offensive little line designed to mock each users' inability to string words into sentences and paragraphs into art.

"Bucky?" it was a whisper laced with confusion.

James turned in time to see Tony rising to his feet from where he'd been hidden on the floor beside his nightstand. Tony tossed a book onto his bed and James didn't have time to wonder how he'd been able to read at all in such dim lighting. What James had heard had been true, Tony really did look better than he had the last time he'd seen him. He _had_ really been clean for months, James could tell from the way he'd gained back half his weight, a big improvement from the corpse he'd yelled at the night he'd banged on Mr. and Mrs. Barnes’ door demanding to know where James was hiding. But the dark internal stains under completely hollow eyes were a clear indication that his efforts at sobriety had fallen to pieces. Even in the dark, his dilated pupils screamed emptiness. Thin lips, parched. Face near blue and veiny. Tony always had a way of bringing death to life.

"Bucky, what are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," James forced a smile, trying his hardest to mirror Tony’s.

"Really?" Tony perked up even more and when he started to walk towards James. Tony had to use every surface in his reach to keep himself from tumbling over. No matter how much James’ heart was breaking at the sight, he couldn't bring himself to make it easier for Tony by covering the ground between them. James had come far enough as it was. James had come too far already. "You missed me?'

"Yeah," James lied, clenching his jaw to keep himself from revealing the truth.

"You were thinking about me," Tony acknowledged, relief tucked somewhere under the hoarse slur.

"Always," James admitted. And he hated how that part wasn't a lie.

James only arrived home a good three hours later, possibly even more. He couldn't quite remember. He'd lost track of time and winter had a way of making it impossible to tell the hour if you hadn't the correct apparatus near you at all times. He found himself in the bathroom, having clearly navigated his way there in the dark on autopilot. The light above was harsh against his painful eyes and his body was frustratingly hot, buzzing with self-deceptive life and a ravenous desperation to be touched. He stripped out of his jacket and threw his t-shirt into the tub, getting the offensive material as far away from his flesh as possible. This was supposed to be the fun part. It was never hard getting high. The battle he was having was one he'd fought and lost so many times before. James was fighting, trying so hard to convince himself that he wasn't intoxicated. Trying to grab onto any shred of sanity swimming around in his dismantled intellect. Anything to ground himself once again. To keep himself from laughing at how absurd it was to willingly, consciously poison yourself in the worst kind of way. The way that left your touch vile. And everything you loved and held and cherished got contaminated with something even as subtle as the cast of your shadow.

"Bucky?"

It felt like Deja vu and James spun too quickly, too eagerly away from his reflection in the hopes of finding Tony standing there. Sober minded. Alright. Ready to help James be alright too. Peter's eyes narrowed on James and something far too cold trapped itself in his chest. And then it began to claw its way out from the inside until James felt Goosebumps flare on his sensitive, damp skin. James smiled for no other reason than the insanity one could conjure up from a substance as useless as dust, something that could so easily be blown away with the slightest gust of wind. Peter's frown deepened.

"Tony?" he enquired, arms crossed over his chest. And James wanted to rip his sweater off because the fabric looked scratchy and heavy, almost blindingly painful to stare at. James nodded to the beat that was resounding in his head. It was a rhythm introduced by his throbbing heart and enhanced by a memory.

James saw the disappointment flash in his fiancé’s eyes, it was far worse than the anger he had expected. Seeing anger always ignited a fire inside of James, spurred him on to prepare for battle. To get ready to defend himself by whatever means necessary. It was like taking on a little bit of his father in every single person he met, or knew or loved. Seeing the disappointed was like breaking his mother's heart all over again. Deliberately, with no way of explaining his way out of it and no means of making her pain go away.

James didn’t realise that he was crying until he tasted the familiar salty wetness against the corner of his lips. Peter had never seen James cry. James didn't ever want Peter to see him cry because men didn't cry. They weren't supposed to and the last thing he wanted was for Peter to think that he'd landed himself a lesser man. But Peter's hands were grasping James’ wrists and pulling them to his chest, keeping James from wiping away all the evidence of how pathetic he really was. Forcing James to expose his weakness. And James was far too weak to be angry about it.

"Please be my Bucky," James buried his face in Peter’s neck, mumbling the words against his skin, lips brushing against the neckline of his sweater. Even as the words echoed off the hollow safe haven he'd found between jaw and shoulder, they made perfect sense to him. They may have not made any sense to anyone else, but the plea could not have been worded more precisely. "Please Peter. He has a Bucky, I don't have a Bucky. I need a Bucky."

"Baby, what are you talking about?" Peter held James’ face in both hands, inspecting him with an intensity that could only make James feel guilty.

"I'm so sorry," James muttered as pathetically as he felt.

"Come here, you're shivering," Peter stated far too calmly, pulling James into a tight embrace. And James hadn't lost Peter then, the warmth that enveloped James in that much needed embraced proved that he hadn't lost him just yet. But he knew that he inevitably would.

"I'm sorry."

_That_ was what James was apologising for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost over already...really hope you've enjoyed so far. Thanks so much for reading.


	14. It Isn't Quite a Sacrifice When It's Made For Yourself

**Present Time**

"Where the fuck is it?" Jarvis barks as he rummages through his bag. Frustrated, he flips it upside down, depositing empty cartons of Princeton cigarette boxes, bottle caps and lottery tickets onto his lap.

"Are you sure there were two left?" Bruce tries to assist by sorting through the assortment of junk that's also managed to land on the floor of the car.

"I know how to fucking count, Bruce," Jarvis snaps. Sam uses the light that his cellphone's screen emits to assist the dull car light, and Jarvis hits it away, further aggravated by the action.

"It's gone Jarvis," James sighs, because the more they bicker, the more his head pounds. "Let’s just make this last tag and call it a night."

"It can't just be gone," Jarvis refuses to stop searching through his empty backpack, checking and rechecking the compartments that have already been checked three times before that.

"Maybe it fell out when one of us were-"

"Maybe it’s a sign," Sam interrupts Bruce, further annoying Jarvis by tickling the back of his neck with his fingertips in a way that James is certain is meant to feel creepy. Bruce and Sam laugh when Jarvis drops his bag and begins to pound his fist against Sam's arm with not nearly as much conviction as he would if he was actually trying to hurt his friend. James notices Steve chuckling too as he watches the scuffle through the rear-view mirror. James’ annoyance simply escalates.

"Just give me the last fucking sticker. I'm gonna tag this place so we can all get on with our fucking lives, okay?"

"What the fuck crawled up your ass?" Sam finally breaks the silence as Jarvis hands James the red tag. James makes a point of slamming the door when he’s out of the car, not caring that the ruckus in the backseat continues in his absence. All he wants is for this night to be over so that he can put Tony behind him and possibly never have to deal with these guys again. Because when they're all together, that’s when James feels most alone. Because something is missing. Tony is supposed to be there and now he never will be. James looks down at the tag in his hand one last time before running across the road.

This is their last stop for the evening and then it will all be over.

James prays it will all be over.


	15. The Night I Left Won’t Leave Like I Did

**7 days Ago**

The memories; they weren’t all terrible.

Whenever Tony would so much as introduce a joke, everyone would be in stiches before he’d finished the first sentence. Because Tony told a joke like he was trying to sell monkeys to an oil farmer. It looked as though it was deeply inconveniencing him, like the only reason he was offering such humour was so that he wouldn't have to deal with such idiocy alone. It was a chore, like he felt obligated to convince you that what he was saying was hilarious. As a result, James doesn't remember half of Tony’s jokes but he does remember the endless fits of giggles that would wake up slumbering households’ on the quieter nights that they decided to take to the streets and crash house parties.

Tony also had a big heart, something he tried to hide from the world, unintentionally letting it glimmer on those rare occasions where he'd stop at nothing until he was able to rescue that stray kitten from the gutter on college grounds. And when he'd finally managed to save it, rising to his feet with loose gravel on red palms and questionable gutter fluid in his hair, he held the feral little guy close to his chest and named it on the spot. James would never tell any of the other guys that Tony cried when his cat was found in a shallow ditch on an open field months later. James would never share that memory with anyone because some memories were meant to be held selfishly in one's own heart.

Like the memory of James’ last night spent with Tony Stark.

James often wondered what Tony was thinking, where exactly his mind was when Tony was inside of him. Tony never looked into James’ eyes, he was always frowning, and he’d never make a sound. James could see the inward battle he was having with himself, it pushed its way out with each thrust, embedded itself in James’ gut, made James feel guilty for offering him unsanctified pleasure. And their bodies never harmonized; there was never a rhythm that could be called poetic. It was like a bad conversation with two equally stubborn individuals, an argument that occurred just to make its point known. And Tony never backed down so neither did James. Not even when James was seconds away from losing his last shred of dignity, because he was trembling too much or his eyes were tearing up or he'd hear himself begging Tony for more.

Tony looked at James that night.

Something dangerous sizzled behind wet lashes as Tony stared down at James. And with every moan he evoked, he huffed out an equally needy response. And he cursed and then cursed some more because he knew it was pointless, he knew he wasn't going to orgasm.

"I'm gonna miss you," Tony confessed into James’ neck and James could feel his heart hammering hard against his chest. And though James’ mind was foggy with a lot more than lust, his body was hyper aware of every single movement Tony made. Of every inch of Tony stroking his walls, every fingertip skimming over his flesh. Tony’s teeth breaking soft skin.

"Im not going anywhere," James replied after an unsure minute. "I’m still gonna be here when you get out."

"You're not going anywhere," Tony chuckled against James’ collarbone. And if James had known that Tony’s statement had been left unfinished, he wouldn't have left. If James had known what Tony was trying to tell him, James would have stayed there beneath him for as long as it would take to convince Tony that he had no reason to be so afraid. Or feel alone. Or unloved.

_You're not going anywhere,_ was what Tony said, _but I am_ was what James failed to hear.


	16. Big Boys Dont Cry

**Present Time**

"I honestly hope to never see any of your ugly faces again," James pats Sam's back before breaking the embrace apart to allow a very eager Bruce into the brotherly hug. Jarvis hasn't given up yet; he's still got his head in the backseat in search of the missing sticker. He bats Steve away whenever Steve's new found Dutch courage forces him to insist on offering Jarvis his torch.

They pour out the last of what’s left in their cans and bottles and cups, a ritual thry used to follow religiously before getting lost in a barn fire barbecue. They say their last goodbyes which are mostly mumbled and short and extremely detached. And just as sure as it had begun, the night is finally over.

James doesn't feel the drive home, his mind still ablaze with all his memories shamelessly attacking it. Steve speaks idly to which James nods and hums his responses every time it seems necessary. He’s exhausted and drunk and a little bit more miserable than he was before leaving the house hours ago. He’s so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice that Steve has walked him to his front door until he feels Steve’s hand tug his elbow.

Steve is carrying James’ bag, a soft, lazy smile gracing his boyish features against the natural lighting being offered by the moon.

"There's no reason for you to be alone tonight, Bucky," Steve rests one hand on the wall beside James’ head, the other moves to trace his jawline lovingly. Far too gently, worlds too intimately and James sees a glimmer of desperation on the surface of those beautiful orbs. And just as James is about to shrug and let Steve in and take advantage of Steve’s eagerness to make him forget that Tony is gone; it hits James like a ton of bricks.

James has become Steve's Tony.

And the thought is unnerving and frightening and all too dangerous. Because Steve is willing to do anything for him as he did for Tony, even if it means putting himself in harm’s way. And it's at that moment that James realises that Tony isn't gone and he never truly will be. And for as long as he is around, living and breathing in James and through James, James can't afford to let anyone else in.

He looks at Steve and all he sees is a reflection of everything James was whenever he stood in front of Tony Stark. He sees the indication of where Steve will be if he continues to be him. Innocence toying with dangerous minds deigned to taint indefinitely. Which is why James kisses Steve goodnight and tells him he never wants to see him again.

Safely in the confines of my home, the silence is deafening. James doesn't bother turning on the lights and he bypasses the bed. Because he hasn't slept on it in months and he possibly never will ever again. He drops myself down on the couch and stares up at the ceiling, wild stars doing crazy dances in his eyes as the tears build up and his chest begins to burn with a fresh coat of anxiety. James peels out of his hoodie and discards his t-shirt on the floor beside it. His body is frail and weakened further by lack of food and toxic courage. James reaches into his denim pocket and grabs hold of it easily. It’s slightly crumpled on the edge, but still manages a weak glow of red and black and traces of white. James sighs heavily before peeling the sticker off of its backing, contemplates for one second further, and then applies the vinyl onto the left side of his chest.

Because that's where it belongs. Because Tony was there.

James falls asleep convinced that Tony Stark will always be there.


End file.
